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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29919006">Vacuus Cymba</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Matthew81/pseuds/Matthew81'>Matthew81</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Storm Heralds [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:48:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>24,223</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29919006</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Matthew81/pseuds/Matthew81</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>On a derelict ship the Storm Heralds make a terrible discovery and learn of the emergence of a new nightmare. The Imperium will never be the same for Time of Ending has begun. This story is a sequel to my previous story Carpe Posterum.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Storm Heralds [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2186892</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Storm Heralds Reading List</p><p>Book 1: Maledicti Venator, Serrati Stellas, Tenebris Resurget, Finis Fide, Tergum Cultro, Omni Honore, Carpe Posterum.</p><p>Vacuus Cymba: Chapter 1</p><p>987.M41</p><p>Darkness lay everywhere this far into deep space, the cold unforgiving vacuum filled only with distant glints of uncaring stars and even the local sun was barely more than a glimmer. Out by the boundary of the Heliopause space became vast and empty in a way no human mind could comprehend, even the vast bulk of starships typically preferred to enter real space far closer to the warmth of inner-system space. Yet today the quiet emptiness was disturbed by movement, the first signs of life seen here in a billion years.</p><p>Spinning gently in the void was a large cylinder. It was as long as a strike craft yet far thicker and more robust, with Imperial aquilla's engraved upon its hull. One end was covered in plasma thrusters, still warm from a sustained burn, and the other was a forest of drill heads and grappling claws. It was an Imperial boarding torpedo and it moved with deadly intent, seeking a target in the infinite blackness. Far behind it the distant silhouette of a Hunter-class destroyer was shrinking into a tiny speck ,but before it a new shape was emerging. A hunk of metal that was encrusted with soaring towers and flying buttresses. One end was an elongated launch bay and the other a mass of plasma drives. It was a sleek predator of deep space, with the speed and manoeuvrability of an escort yet the mass and armour of a Cruiser. Massive gunports loomed along its sides and spine, gaping maws promising annihilation to all they saw, for this was the unmistakeable image of an Astartes strike cruiser.</p><p>For millennia these vessels had been the doom of heretics, the sight of such a ship blazing into battle often the last thing traitors ever saw. Yet this ship was not roaring through space on a comet tail of plasma, today it was merely drifting on minimal power with its running lights subdued and gunports closed. It was not responding to hails and not broadcasting identifications or hololithic pennants. It could easily be mistaken for a dead wreck, save for the tiny bursts of manoeuvring thrust that kept it on course. The ship was spinning slowly in the emptiness and if there had been eyes to see then they could have discerned on her hull the name 'Mainfest Destiny'.</p><p>With what appeared to be crawling speed the boarding torpedo closed upon the unresponsive ship but then as the perspective shifted the two appeared to leap nearer, their relative speeds making them seem to hurtle together. The Torpedo's auspex detected the oncoming mass of metal and suddenly the forward drill heads were awakened and began to spin. The cylinder plunged towards the ship's hull, which appeared to be a cliff of adamantium, and it seemed that the torpedo must surely be dashed to pieces. Two seconds before impact the torpedo's nosecone lit up with the blaze of Magma-meltas, multiple rows of weapons sending out streams of sub-fusion fire. The ship's hull glowed and bubbled for an instant under the intensity of the blast then the torpedo crashed into it. Drill heads spun and chewed away at the weakened metal, tearing a large hole as grappling claws shot out to impale the hull. Motors whined as they pulled the cables taut then inexorably the entire torpedo pulled itself into the ship. The outer hull gave way as the torpedo dragged itself within and tore through internal decks like hot knife through butter, until its momentum was finally spent. It sat inert with its skin steaming from the heat of its violent entry, then nozzles began spraying quick setting foam sealant around the ship's wounds. Soon the hole had been sealed against the vacuum of space and then finally the silence fell as the Torpedo's machine spirit went into slumber.</p><p>For long seconds nothing happened then the torpedo's forward hatch ground open, lifting the drillheads away to reveal a passage running back up the cylinder's length. Ready and waiting behind that hatch were a line of armoured beings. It would have been easy to take them for mere battle brothers of the Adeptus Astartes but these were as far beyond them as Space Marines were beyond mortals. Their armour was thick beyond belief and had been reinforced with exoskeletons and layer upon layer of adamantium plates. Helms were swollen with aupsex sensors and superior comms gear, giving them a muzzled bulldog expression. Their weapons were so large that they would have appeared comical had it not been for their lethal power and the few who had seen them and lived to tell of it would swear there was no deadlier armament in the galaxy. Each plate was decorated with countless laurels of victory, heraldry attesting to mighty achievements, purity scrolls earned in furious combat and campaign badges from the deadliest of warzones. Each one was a hero among heroes, a warrior elevated beyond the power of their lesser kin and a man whom whole armies would follow to hell and back. The feared First Company veterans, the Terminator elite and they were clad in the colours of the Storm Heralds.</p><p>One by the one the Terminators lumbered out of the boarding Torpedo, making deck plates rattle and bend under their ludicrous weight until five of them stood in a defensive ring around the entrance. Four swept the space with Storm bolters and power fists were already crackling with chained energy, but the fifth effortlessly hefted a Heavy Flamer as if it weighed noting. With the area secured two more Marines stepped out into the dim light, these were of an entirely different order, the first wore bright red armour that had been heavily modified with augmetics and input jacks. He bore a large servo arm over one shoulder and his shoulders were marked with the bisected skull icon of the Cult Mechanicus, below that was etched the name 'Hevostan'.</p><p>The other Marine wore Terminator armour but it was an entirely different order of creation and from his back flew a large banner declaring his innumerable victories. Whereas the squad wore the classic but restrictive Indomitus pattern this warrior was fitted with the more sophisticated and agile Tartaros pattern. He had an electromagnetic longsword drawn in his fist and clenched a combi-plasma in the other. His colours were also subtly different, broad pauldrons and helm wreathed in gold leaf and glittering chains that were draped across his chest. Glorious was his raiment and only one Space Marine in a thousand was permitted to display such heraldry, for his was a First Captain and his name was Athead.</p><p>The Sergeant of the Terminators was sweeping the corridor ahead with a hefty storm bolter, he could not turn around in his awe inspiring plate but said gruffly, "Entrance achieved without resistance Brother-Captain. Bridgehead secured: no threats detected."</p><p>Athead stood resplendent in his glorious armour and declared, "Excellent work Brother-Sergeant Starn. Everybody be sharp, the Manifest Destiny went missing without trace over thirty years ago. There has been no word of her since and for a Strike Cruiser suddenly to appear on the edge of Angle's Redoubt system is highly suspicious, be ready for anything."</p><p>"As you command" replied Starn then Athead turned to Hevostan and asked, "Techmarine, can you access the ships log's from here?"</p><p>Hevostan answered in surprisingly rich baritone voice, "The Machine Spirits are subdued and unresponsive, I will require a direct hard point connection to access the Logic Engine. I would recommend the primary cogitator stacks as the best place to obtain the Manifest Destiny's logs."</p><p>Athead nodded and said, "Sergeant Starn deploy your squad, you know what to do."</p><p>"As you wish" replied Starn then he turned to address his Terminators, "Brother Lorath take up the rearguard and be alert for stalkers, Brother Zeax keep near the centre there is no telling where enemies may come from and we will need your Heavy Flamer."</p><p>Then he turned to the last two Terminators saying, "Brothers Priyar and Toran, you will take point. Clear us a path to the bridge and let nothing stand in your way."</p><p>"Aye Brother-Sergeant," Toran replied eagerly, "For Him on Terra."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Vacuus Cymba Chapter 2</p><p>The Terminators were making enough noise to wake the dead, their heavy footfalls ringing in the ship's compartments and corridors. If anyone had failed to notice their entrance then they would certainly note the sheer racket they were making. Tactical Dreadnought plate was not famed for its stealth qualities, but then sneakiness had never been important to the warriors who wore it. In most Astartes' opinion near-invulnerability and astonishing levels of firepower more than made up for their lack of subtly.</p><p>Hevostan reflected on this as he trailed behind the insertion party. The lone Techmarine in the group was an odd addition to a sweep and clear mission. Typically cleansing derelict vessels and space hulks fell to the Terminator elite alone, to have a Techmarine along was rare, to bring the First Captain even rarer but this was hardly a standard mission. The Manifest Destiny was a Chapter Strike Cruiser and her disappearance was unexplained, as was her sudden reappearance hundreds of light-years from where she had last been sighted.</p><p>Hevostan glanced at a small auspex display in his helm and saw no trace of life or movement, other than themselves. That was hardly reassuring; starfaring vessels were kilometres long and almost as tall and broad. A cruiser boasted the same internal volume as a small city, with a million places to hide and enough dense metal to block most scanners. Even a Techmarine's superior plate, filled with arcane Machine-relics, would struggle to reach far beyond visual range. Grimly Hevostan concluded he would be better off using his eyes.</p><p>He turned his attention to the ship itself. The passageway they were walking down was wide enough to permit two Terminators to march side by side so they advanced in lockstep. The walls were lined with exposed pipes that were encrusted with ice and thick data-conduits bearing fading purity seals. That was troubling to Hevostan. The ice on the pipes should have been cleared and the blessings on the walls refreshed. The Manifest Destiny was a potent example of the Cult Technis' prowess, a mighty war-chariot and a boon from the Machine God. Reverent devotion and maintenance were essential, every crewman knew that. That the ship had been so poorly served spoke ill omens as to her fate.</p><p>There was a grunt at his side as the Brother called Lorath muttered, "See anything interesting?"</p><p>Hevostan replied grimly, "The lack of maintenance cycles is troubling, the Machine Spirits will be offended by such disrespect."</p><p>"You Techmarines," Lorath chuckled, "Always fretting over the spirits."</p><p>Hevostan snapped back irately, "You should show more respect for the artefacts of the Omnissiah! The Machine God bestows the blessings of knowledge upon his servants and fills devices with his Motive Force. Woe betide the warrior who fails to minister to his gear."</p><p>"I honour my armour diligently," Lorath retorted, "But they were made for war, they're used to rough handling . I wouldn't worry about it so much."</p><p>Hevostan hissed, "I shall inform the Forgemaster of your blasphemy and make sure he thoroughly audits your maintenance prayer rituals."</p><p>"If you must," Lorath snorted in amusement.</p><p>Silence fell as Hevostan fumed. All Space Marines tended to their gear devotedly, but they had little understanding of deeper cyber-theology, beyond basic repairs. Hevostan did, he was a fully trained Techmarine, he had trod upon the red sands of Mars and received training in the perilous arcana of science and logic. He understood the mysteries of circuit and Binaric programming, the ritual appeasements and sacred rituals required to placate the machine spirits. Above all he understood the perils of innovation, invention and cavalier handling of tech-arcana, matters few of his lay-Brethren truly grasped.</p><p>Suddenly Captain Athead stopped and called, "Techmarine, the junction ahead is blocked, we must clear a path."</p><p>Hevostan saw a fallen bulkhead obstructed their way and that the Terminators intended to smash through with their power fists. Hastily he spat, "Negative, it will cause too much damage, we must reroute through compartment two-ninety."</p><p>"That will add ten minutes to our route," Athead snapped.</p><p>"Seven minutes, eighteen seconds," Hevostan corrected.</p><p>Zeax interjected, "This is wasting time, let's just punch a way through."</p><p>"No," Hevostan refuted, "There is a mech-shrine one deck up, we risk undermining its foundations. The Omnissiah will not abide desecration of his templums."</p><p>"So," Zeax scoffed.</p><p>"Plus fuel lines run through that pipe to your left, break it and we will fill this passage with flames."</p><p>Athead cut through the argument saying, "This is wasting time, we will reoute. And Hevostan, next time lead with the pertinent facts instead of debating theology in a combat-zone."</p><p>At Athead's command the party diverted, heading through a narrow hatch that barely let them pass one at a time. As they shuffled through Hevostan eyed the First Captain. Outwardly Athead appeared calm and collected but Hevostan suspected he was vexed. The penultimate authority in the Storm Heralds was accustomed to having his word obeyed without question, but Hevostan didn't report to him. Techmarines were an order apart, a Sodality of clerics and adapts. Like the Chaplains, Librarians and Apothecaries they had duties beyond the rank and file. Plus Techmarines held allegiances to both Mars and Terra, servants of two masters forced to walk a troubled line between them. For his part Hevostan distrusted Athead. The First Captain was a tech-blasphemer and iconoclast, failing to show due respect to the shrines of the Cult Technis. Ever since that incident on Sucaris Athead's name had been a curse in the Sodality, few adepts would trust the burner of the Dreaming Spires.</p><p>As they waited Hevostan initiated a closed vox-link to Athead and urged, "First Captain, I must reiterate the importance of his mission."</p><p>"I know our mission," Athead retorted, "The Manifest Destiny vanished without explanation years ago, we are to ascertain where she has been and if she has carried back a threat to the Imperium. If the answer is not to my liking then we are to mark this ship for destruction."</p><p>"Not before we retrieve the holy relics on board," Hevostan urged, "This ship was on an important mission for the Cult Technis when she vanished. We must retrieve the artefacts at all costs."</p><p>"That is your mission," Athead scoffed, "Mine is to judge if this vessel can be reclaimed or must be destroyed."</p><p>Hevostan was incensed and snapped, "This is not Sucaris, sacred relics cannot be sacrificed so easily! All Machines are sacrosanct."</p><p>"You forget all things are secondary to the mission," Athead retorted, "This ship, our Brothers, your life and mine. The mission is all, a fact you Techmarines often seem to forget."</p><p>"The Forgemaster will not condone the needless destruction of a worthy ship and will not stand for losing the sacred relics!" Hevostan argued.</p><p>"Then I suggest you focus on completing the mission and stop flapping your gums," Athead rebuked as he stepped through the hatch at last.</p><p>Hevostan gritted his teeth as the First Captain disappeared. He wished he had brought a congregation of his ordained-brethren, oathed to the Omnissiah. Sadly the Forgemaster had only seen fit to send his equerry, so Hevostan was alone. He would have to keep a careful watch on the others and make sure they did not endanger the relics. He prayed he wouldn't be forced to choose between them, for he did not know which path he would follow. As always a Techmarine's dual loyalties weighed heavily upon and all he could do was follow the road and see where it led. With that thought Hevostan ducked through the hatch and followed the Terminators deeper into the ship, marching into the depths and unknowable danger.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Vacuus Cymba Chapter 3</p><p>In the dim compartments of the Manifest Destiny the Terminators advanced in lockstep, their pace measured yet with an unstoppable momentum behind it. Taking point Brother Toran was sweeping for threats and alert for dangers, yet at the same time was fighting his irritation at the situation. As a Sergeant he had seen Terminators in action and been amazed by their power and endurance, their ability to withstand anything the enemy could throw at them. Yet watching from afar and actually wearing Tactical Dreadnought plate were two very different things. He had never grasped how awkward, restrictive and top-heavy the armour was. Despite years of intensive training Toran still couldn't shake the sensation that he was hunching over and every step made him feel like he was falling forwards. The bulk of the plate was unwieldy and cumbersome; he could not turn at the waist and could barely move his head, if he wanted to look at something he had to stomp completely about. The suit's inbuilt sensorium and squad network was supposed to compensate, but all it did was create a furious blizzard of icons and inputs in his visual field. It was only thanks to hundreds of hours of rigorous exercises that he could make any sense at all of what he was seeing.</p><p>In fact his entire experience in First Company had been disappointing; instead of glorious combat he had only engaged in ceremonial details and endless drills. He had always known the veterans were the best of the best but he had failed to grasp how much of that came from arduous and extreme training, even by Space Marine standards it had been gruelling. His best efforts had not engendered anything but derision from his new squad-Brothers, their opinion of him dismissive and brusque. In his more charitable moments Toran told himself it was because he was barely a hundred years old, quite junior compared to most Veterans, yet he had never managed to shake the suspicion that his Brothers resented him. Toran had spent his entire service in Ninth Company, never having been promoted to a Battle Company, a most unusual state of affairs. His elevation to First Company had come with the stink of political manoeuvring among the Master of the Chapter and he suspected that many believed that he was not really worthy of a place among the vaunted heroes of the First.</p><p>Still after two years of passing every test and proving himself over and over he had finally been granted a place in a combat squad and sent out to fight. Determined to establish his right to be here Toran continuously scanned his environment, noting every alcove and ascending ramp that could conceal an ambush. As the squad moved up the decks of the ship they emerged onto a long observation gallery on the upper hull, lined with large armourglass panels that showed the distant stars set into the obsidian sky. Toran had served on the Manifest Destiny before and knew such places were not useless affections but actually served for close visual observation of objects and planetary bodies. Despite forty millennia of void travel humans still had not shaken the instinctive need to see something with their own eyes.</p><p>Toran also knew that this was where their path diverged, either heading upwards towards the bridge or deeper into the ship's hull. He paused his step, the cumbersome Terminator armour realigning his exoskeleton to ensure he didn't fall over. His squad mates Priyar and Zeax paused with him and asked, "Is there a problem?"</p><p>Toran said, "The way to the bridge lies ahead, we may be able to reach it and uncover the mystery of this ship's disappearance."</p><p>Zeax replied "Keep it to yourself, do not waste Captain Athead's time with your fancies."</p><p>Toran gritted his teeth for Zeax was a brutally direct warrior with no time for consideration of the wider situation. Toran knew he had won countless laurels for his deeds, but he could not help finding the attitude limiting and restraining. Toran knew the importance of obedience and discipline, especially as he was the junior among them but he had hoped on actual deployment he would be able to contribute ideas. Their momentary pause had not gone unnoticed and Sergeant Starn stomped over saying, "Why have you stopped?" Starn was a veritable hero of the Chapter who had survived countless suicide missions which he loudly attributed to his dogmatic application of the Codex Astartes. Many called him pedantic, unimaginative and inflexible which he took as high praise.</p><p>Toran faced him and said, "Sergeant, I have served on this ship before. There is another route that branches off from here, it leads directly to the bridge it is far closer than the logic engines and it will be easier to access the logs from there."</p><p>Starn's expression was unreadable under his thick helm but his irritation was evident in his voice as he said, "Are you questioning our orders, do you think you know better than the Captain?"</p><p>Toran was insulted that anyone would say he questioned orders but stood his ground and said, "I am presenting an alternative option to achieve our objectives."</p><p>Before Starn could reply Captain Athead interrupted their conversation barking, "Squad hold here and form a perimeter, Toran attend me."</p><p>Instantly the squad spread out in a circle and Toran stomped about to face the First Captain, knowing he was about to be given a drubbing. Athead looked him up and down then said, "Toran, I know you have a lot to say but you must show respect for your seniors."</p><p>Toran could not look down in his bulldog helm but softly said, "I merely seek to prove my worthiness to stand among them."</p><p>"And that is to your credit," Athead replied, "But to question implies you think yourself superior to them. No, speak not. I know you displayed uncommon intelligence in the Reserves, but you are not a Sergeant anymore. You must show humility and obedience to earn respect in the First."</p><p>Toran reluctantly answered, "I shall endeavour to keep my tongue still Brother-Captain."</p><p>"You have potential young Toran, but you must hone it with discipline," Athead said as he brandished his electromagnetic longsword, "You know whose sword this is."</p><p>Toran swallowed for there was no Storm Herald alive who would not instantly recognise the Chapter's most holy relic. The icon which had been granted to them at their founding as a gesture of respect from the Macragge itself, he said without equivocation, "The Sword of Thiel."</p><p>Athead declared, "Yes, the blade carried by Aeonid Thiel himself, the great captain who stood by the side of the Primarch in the days of the Horus Heresy. Do you think such an officer rose to such a lauded position by questioning orders, can you imagine a man such as Aeonid Thiel ever doing such a thing as challenging orthodoxy or doubting a superior?"</p><p>Toran couldn't actually answer that for the details of that legendary officer's life were lost to the mists of ancient history, his deeds and words were nought but ink on a crumbling scroll or encased in datacrystals on a dusty shelf. All the modern Storm Heralds knew was Thiel's name and rank. Still Toran knew what answer he was supposed to give so said, "No sir!"</p><p>Athead softly said, "Then meditate upon his example and consider the virtues of unquestioning obedience."</p><p>"I shall," Toran replied.</p><p>"Good," Athead affirmed, "Now return to your position and try to look suitably chastised."</p><p>The Captain stomped past and the squad formed up and moved on Toran felt self-recrimination . The First Captain had delivered a firm yet considered rebuke but the fact it had been needed shamed Toran. Sergeant Starn had a reputation for his strict interpretation of orders and Toran should have known better than to speak so freely before him. Once more he was reminded of his junior position in the squad and he swore to rededicate himself to the exacting discipline of his new status.</p><p>As the Terminators reformed brother Lorath said over the vox link with relish, "About time someone put you in your place, how the Divine Emperor allowed you into the rank and file let alone First Company is beyond me."</p><p>Toran sighed to himself, for some reason Lorath had taken an intense personal dislike to him from the second he had been elevated. Toran had no idea what he had done to annoy his brother but found him spiteful and snide. It also did not help that like most of First Company he was an ardent Emperor Worshipper. Toran refused to sink to his level and responded, "It does the spirit good to be humbled occasionally and we all must remember our purpose is to serve Him on Terra."</p><p>Lorath snapped off the link dismissively but another voice cut in on a private frequency, it was Brother Priyar and he was saying, "Don't take it personally; he is just irked because you had a good idea."</p><p>Toran was pleased that Priyar was assigned alongside him, for unlike most of the stern and dour warriors of First Company this brother was warm and friendly. Since joining Priyar was the only brother he had met who Toran could actually talk with, he was also the only soul in the Company that Toran had not heard spouting dogma about the Divinity of the Emperor.</p><p>Toran said, "Sergeant Starn did not seem to agree."</p><p>Priyar chuckled over their private link and said, "I have served with Starnfor a long time, he is a great warrior but he does tend to see his squad as an extension of his will. You just need to learn how to present ideas to him as if they were his own."</p><p>Toran tried to shake his head but his helm's muzzle butted into the gorget of his armour as he said, "And what of Lorath?"</p><p>Priyar sighed and said, "Lorath is an accomplished warrior and has been in first Company for two centuries but he is desperate for command, even of a squad. Regrettably he does not inspire those around him; he knows he is destined to be a Terminator, which is why he resents you so much."</p><p>Toran was puzzled and said, "I do not follow."</p><p>"Really? I thought you knew," said Priyar sounding surprised, "The word is that Chapter Master Gorgall himself has taken a personal interest in your career. Nobody understands why but rumour says that you are being fast-tracked onto the Command pathway, too fast for many and lot of the veterans are determined to prove you should not be here. Word has it you're here to knock off a few rough edges before they set your feet on the path to a Captaincy."</p><p>Toran was stunned by the candid admission and lapsed into thoughtful silence as the squad proceeded along the gallery. He had long dreamed of being one of the ten Captains, what Storm Herald didn't, but to hear another say it out loud was startling. Could he truly be heading for a Company Command, he wasn't sure he was worthy of such an honour or a burden. Yet he had to admit the title Captain Toran had a nice ring to it.</p><p>As he mused on this they passed under the high arching windows and marched in lockstep towards a large gateway that led deeper into the ship. Just as they were about to pass into a corridor wide enough for them all to walk side by side Toran's integrated auspex lit up as it detected something closing on their position. His sensorium swept the corridor ahead, creating an illuminated image of what was closing and he could see every detail like they were inches away. Ahead were dozens of filthy ragged men running towards him, yet their skin was scaled and their robes billowed inhumanly suggesting extra limbs. At their head were a gang of creatures that could not be further from human, their faces disgustingly alien and they were encased in chitin armour from which protruded four arms tipped with razor sharp rending claws. Shock and alarm prompted Toran to raise his storm bolter and yell, "Genestealers!"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Vacuus Cymba Chapter4</p><p>Down the length of the corridor a mass of chitinous flesh rolled forwards in an unstoppable wave, hybrids waving snub pistols in their extra arms and purestrains leaping forwards with rending claws extended. They were a vision from the worst nightmares of man, the primordial fear of the predators in the dark made real and brought to life in vast numbers. Facing them a thin line of Terminators waited with weapons ready, forming a wall of Adamantium resistance, firm and unwavering in the face of horror. On and on the foe came, racing forwards in the desire to rip, tear and feast. Then came the moment when they crossed an invisible boundary and the Terminators opened fire. A thunderous roar accompanied tongues of flame that leapt from their weapons as they spat rounds in a frenzy. A bolter was a Space Marine's instrument of judgement, the expression of his fury and hate, but Storm Bolters made them look like children's toys. The rate of fire was tremendous, double barrels glowing red hot as they unleashed a hail of destruction and the violence of their recoil would have shattered a mortal man's bones.</p><p>In the narrow confines of the corridor the genestealers had no room to dodge and bolts inevitably found their flesh. The hybrids had no defence against the power of mass reactive shells and rounds blew off limbs and exploded chest cavities creating a gruesome mist of gore. Standing in the line Toran held onto his juddering Storm bolter as the weapon bucked and kicked in his fist, sweeping his firing arc back and forth to decimate foes. Trying to hold it steady tested even his strength and only countless hours of training and his warplate let him hit anything. There was a good reason line Brothers didn't carry these temperamental armaments but in the hands of a Terminator they were deadly.</p><p>Behind the blizzard of targeting icons and threat assessments that filled his vision he could see the wave of flesh being forced back by the power of the rounds, a dam wall of broken corpses blocking the corridor. The devastation was astounding, the precision and power of the barrage mowing down Xenos left and right, everything the Terminators targeted die, right up till the storm bolters ran dry. The barrage ceased as the squad discharged magazines and reached for fresh ones, but in that moment the genestealers poured over their dead and hurtled forwards. A wave of grasping claws reached out for them and the air filled with an inhuman hissing noise, as they undulated into combat. A few seconds before they could touch the armour of the Terminators Brother Zeax squeezed the trigger of the Heavy Flamer and let loose wide streams of fire. A blazing fireball filled the corridor, setting alight the rags and robes of the hybrids. The air filled with licking flames and black smoke as flailing corpses fell to the deck and rolled about in agony. It seemed for a moment that the charge had been held but then the purestrains leapt through the flames, chitin armour steaming but unbroken.</p><p>Toran saw a leaping shadow made of claw and fang soaring towards him and he knew it was pointless trying to evade in his bulky plate so braced himself and activated his power fist. The purestrain fell upon him from above and its sharp talons racked a vicious blow across his upper carapace. Had he been wearing conventional plate the force of the impact would have driven him to his knees but the reinforced exoskeleton of his armour took the extra inertia without even swaying and kept him upright. The creature lashed at his face and opened its mouth to jab a sharp proboscis at his face but Toran was not taking this affront without a response. With ponderous inevitability he swung his power fist about and caught the beast right in the centre of its chest. The momentum of the blow was akin to a pile driver and the energy of the crackling field tore it apart at a molecular level.</p><p>With one mighty swing Toran ripped the foul alien in two, hurling the remains away to slither lifelessly across the floor. He did not pause his attack but used the momentum of the blow to drive himself forwards, stomping into battle like a tank seeking more targets. There was no artistry or grace to fighting in Tactical Dreadnought plate, the encasing bulk and weight made it impossible to dodge parry or avoid, for Terminators fighting was all about momentum, inertia and brutal force. Once in motion one could never risk stopping and the warrior had to walk with utter contempt for the blades of the foe, dealing destruction with ruthless, relentless determination.</p><p>Toran waded through packed hybrids, claws and fangs chipping his heraldry, some gouged deeply into the thick ceramite but the multiple layers of adamantium beneath held true and he was unharmed. In return his power fist rose and fell over and over like some mighty piston and every hammerblow obliterated a foe with crushing force. He felt his contempt growing for the foe, their vile mockery of the human form offending him and their skittering movements loathsome to his eye. He had been briefed that the genestealers were native to the moons of Ymgarl and become a plague upon the stars, polluting the righteous genetics of mankind. A scourging of their nest by the Salamanders Chapter had failed to burn out the corruption and in recent centuries encounters with them had grown exponentially but Toran was determined to stop their cancer this time.</p><p>As he waded through the mass of heaving chitin he saw Hevostan grappling a purestrain with his servo arm, holding it by the neck as he dismembered it limb by limb with a cog-toothed axe. Behind him Lorath had a purple skull in his great fist, he squeezed hard and the Xeno's head imploded like a crushed egg. From the flames charged a trio of purestrains but Captain Athead met them with a swing of his longsword. The Sword of Thiel carved through molecules with its energised field and with a series of brutal chops he sliced them apart.</p><p>Meanwhile Zeax was holding a purestrain at bay with his power fist, the creature lashed and clawed at him but he responded by ramming his Heavy Flamer into its guts so hard it cracked the Chitin armour. He feathered the trigger and the genestealer roared in agony as it burned from the inside out. Sergeant Starn was sweeping his powerfist in wide arcs, every movement smashing hybrids into pulped wreckage, they fell back hissing before him but he pursued as an unstoppable juggernaut. Behind Priyar followed in close step covering his back, he had reloaded his storm bolter and fired off controlled burst that burst any foe trying to flank them.</p><p>The battle was going well and the Terminators were decimating their foes so Toran took a moment to deactivate his fist's power field and reloaded his storm bolter but at that very moment something new emerged from the smoke. Leaping high above the licking flames was a beast unlike any other; its legs were far longer and backward jointed, giving it an insect like appearance. The beast leapt high and Toran saw its face was a mass of grasping tendrils and it had two massive scything talons arching up over its shoulder blades, coiled with tensile strength. He threw his weight hard about to face the Xeno but he was just too slow in the heavy bulk of his Terminator plate. Before he could target the Xeno it spread its arms wide and from its rib-like chest shot a forest of flesh hooks.</p><p>Toran snarled in anger as the hooks ensnared his limbs, wrapping around his body in a fleshy cocoon. With a whip snapping motion the tendrils pulled taut and he was hauled off balance, to be dragged into the vile alien's cruel embrace. He was dragged helplessly across the floor and the Xeno screamed in triumph and raised its scything talons high, then stabbed them down to impale his back.</p><p>Had Toran been clad in conventional armour his life would have ended right there but as the talons stabbed into his back the ridiculously thick adamantium undersheath took the blows and held firm. Toran was left standing there as the Xeno shrieked in outrage and tried to smoother his head in its mouth tendrils. Righteous revulsion swept through Toran and with irresistible strength he forced his arms apart, creating a minute gap, and levered his Storm Bolter up between them, then with a twitch of his finger he pulled the trigger.</p><p>A stream of explosions erupted between the grappling foes smashing into both of them with spine jarring force. Toran felt like he was being shaken apart by the thunder of the detonations, he could feel his teeth cracking as they rattled in his gums and his eyes puffed with blood from broken vessels. Yet as bad as it was for him it was worse for the Xeno, without his mighty armour to protect it the rounds cut deeply into alien flesh and they blew through its chest to leave gaping holes. Vile purple blood sprayed over Toran and covered his eye lenses but the desperate move blew the creature off him, leaving it a pile of stinking viscera upon the deck.</p><p>Toran wiped his eyelenses clear and looked about to see that the rest of the squad had finished off the remaining genestealers and silence at last fell upon them. The Terminators had crushed the Xeno invaders utterly and without losing a single man. They checked the piles of foes and confirmed they were all truly dead as Captain Athead declared, "Thus perish all enemies of the Divine Emperor!"</p><p>Toran was only half listening as he kicked at the remains off the vile creature that had almost killed him and said, "My hypno-indoctrination instilled no memories of such a Genestealer type. Is this fiend something new?"</p><p>The others gathered round his unusual kill in curiosity, assessing its potential threat and mentally running theoreticals about how to destroy it but it was Hevostan who cried in alarm, "That is no Genestealer that is a Tyranid of the Lictor genus!"</p><p>Toran raised his head in bewilderment and looked at the Techmarine saying "A Tyranid, but what's it doing here?"</p><p>"I don't know," Hevostan replied grimly, "But I don't like the implications, more than ever it is imperative we find out what happened to the Manifest Destiny."</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Vacuus Cymba Chapter 5</p><p>In the observation gallery the Storm Heralds gathered around the corpse of the Lictor beast, trying to understand what they were seeing. Toran was confused and troubled, he knew of the Genestealer menace and the Tyranids, all Space Marines had heard of the nightmarish battle over Macragge, but to his knowledge they were two separate Xeno threats, it made no sense for them to be here together. Questions were mounting, mysteries that needed answering and fast.</p><p>Hevostan was crouching down to examine the Xeno, he removed several probes from his belt and began inserting them one by one into the dead flesh. The Techmarine said, "Curious, there was an Inquisitor named Kryptman who hypothesised that the genestealers were connected to the Tyranid menace, but that was widely dismissed as contrary to accepted doctrine on Mars. Yet these gene markers indicate that they are actually subspecies of the same race, it is extremely unorthodox."</p><p>Toran stood watching as he said, "They are certainly connected, why wasn't this made known sooner?"</p><p>"It does not matter," snapped Captain Athead, "Focus on your duties and do not get distracted by irrelevant details."</p><p>Hevostan however contradicted him saying, "All knowledge is sacred, there is an enigma here that needs resolving. It may be connected to the disappearance of the ship."</p><p>"How so?" Toran pressed.</p><p>"Unknown," Hevostan replied, "But the presence of the Lictor is an anomaly."</p><p>Zeax spoke up then, "So what, some genestealers stole aboard and brought their pet Lictor. A relic of a broken race, it is irrelevant."</p><p>Toran argued, "But why wasn't the threat included in our Hypno-indoctrination?"</p><p>Sergeant Starn however seemed unmoved and answered, "Because there was no need to. Hive Fleet Behemoth was annihilated at Macragge, all that was left were tiny splinters. They raid and ravage but none have ever penetrated this deep into Segmentum Tempestus. The Tyranid menace is over and we have more pressing concerns than a dying race."</p><p>Hevostan removed his probes and stood up then fixed his gaze on Athead and said, "Are you going to tell them or should I?"</p><p>Athead stared back in silence but Hevostan was of the order of Techmarines, not under his authority and entrusted with mysteries beyond his ken. Eventually he growled through gritted teeth, "That may not be entirely accurate."</p><p>Starn stomped about and said, "Brother-Captain is there something we should be aware of?"</p><p>Athead sounded ready to spit but said, "There have been disturbing reports from the Eastern Fringe, a fresh wave of Tyranid attacks and sightings of Hive ships in ever-increasing number. At the highest levels of the Imperium alarm is growing that the Tyranids may not be as dead as we once supposed."</p><p>Hevostan took up the narrative and said, "Marneus Calgar is demanding the mobilisation of the entire Eastern Fringe. He is calling upon all the armies of Man to prepare for the worst."</p><p>Sergeant Starn sounded furious that this had been withheld from him and growled, "Then why are we here and not there?"</p><p>Athead was incensed at being questioned and retorted "We are tens of thousands of light-years away and there are threats aplenty nearer to home."</p><p>Toran could not help but speak out to say "Lord Macragge stands imperilled and we elect to do nothing?!"</p><p>"We are too far away," snarled Athead, "It would take five years at best to reach the Eastern Fringe; Our efforts are better spent here."</p><p>Lorath spoke up and said, "We could still do something."</p><p>Zeax agreed saying ,"The Lord of Macragge is our spiritual liege, second only to the Divine Emperor, we are honour bound to stand with him in his hour of need.</p><p>Priyar stated resolutely "If Marneus Calgar calls for aid then we should fight alongside him with honour."</p><p>Athead growled "The matter has been debated among the Masters of the Chapter and they decided our forces would be better utilised right here."</p><p>"Not unanimously," muttered Hevostan.</p><p>"Enough!" Athead rebuked, "The Masters have made their decision and it is not for you to question it."</p><p>The squad stood admonished, discipline returning now the moment of shock was wearing off and their rigid indoctrination made them put aside thoughts of questioning orders. Yet Toran was eyeing the Captain and thinking about the implications of what they had learned, he wanted to argue but also remembered what the Captain had told him.</p><p>Reluctantly Toran said, "The Captain is right." The last thing anyone had expected was for him to agree with the Captain and they turned to him in surprise as he continued, "We must focus on unravelling the mystery of the Manifest Destiny. How she disappeared and why the Genestealers brought her back."</p><p>Priyar sounded puzzled as he mused, "You suppose the Genestealers steered the ship to Angle's Reboubt deliberately?"</p><p>"It is the most likely explanation," Toran affirmed.</p><p>"Perhaps they intend to infest the Hive cities with their vile spawn," Zeax spat.</p><p>"Surely the orbital defences would not allow this ship to approach without challenge," said Lorath.</p><p>Starn grunted, "This is an Astartes Strike Cruiser, I would be surprised if those quivering SDF officers even dared open a hail, yet alone question her right to go wherever the hell she pleases. If we had not been alert for signs of our missing ship they would have reached Angle's Redoubt with ease."</p><p>"But why?" asked Priyar, "What does all this herald?"</p><p>Toran mused, "Perhaps they intend to disrupt Imperial defences ahead of the Tyranid resurgence."</p><p>"Tens of thousands of light-years from the Eastern Fringe," Zeax rebutted, "A pointless and irrelevant action."</p><p>"Then why do they act so?" Priyar asked.</p><p>They stood for moment considering the implications but then Athead shook off the introspection and said, "This is ridiculous, we credit the beasts with too much intelligence. It is most likely they stumbled upon the derelict ship and set course for the nearest habitable world. Yes they are dangerous but they remain animals. They are incapable of that sort of long-term planning."</p><p>His words had barely left his lips when a rumbling vibration ran through the deck of the ship. Every one of them had served on starships before and knew the distinct noise of the guns being run out when they heard it. As one they turned to the great viewportal and stared helplessly at the distant stars, unable to change what they were seeing. Before their eyes the great bulk of the Bombardment Canons were being brought to bear, targeting something beyond visual range. There was a great thud as the locks engaged and a deep rumble as gigantic recoil dampeners clamped on, then with two enormous belches of fire the cannons spoke. Two Magma Bombs roared out of the barrels and span off into space, shrinking into pinpricks as they fled out of sight, for long seconds nothing happened then a distant flash of light announced that they had found and destroyed their target.</p><p>The squad stood in silence, aghast at what they had seen then Priyar said, "That was our escort frigate: we now have no way off this ship."</p><p>Hevostan muttered, "Elegant proof of intelligence."</p><p>"What do we do now?" asked Lorath.</p><p>"We complete our mission" growled Athead gripping his sword tightly, "We reach the logic engines and discover the full scope of this threat. We have wasted too much time already, form up and move out!"</p><p>With their orders given the Terminators resumed their places in the formation and marched in lockstep towards the heart of the ship, determined to eradicate whatever they found there. Toran fell in with a steady gait, but in his hearts he was troubled. A sense that more was going on here than he knew crept over him and a nagging suspicion they were in the cusp of terrible danger dwelt in his hearts.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Vacuus Cymba Chapter 6</p><p>The journey to the primary logic engines was a fraught affair, every step taken in expectation of further ambush. The Terminators were well aware of the Genestealer threat and their arcane Broodmind. One encounter with them should be more than enough to alert the rest and there could be no doubt that they would be moving to surrounded the intruders in their nest. As they progressed auspexs pinged randomly and strange hisses echoed down junctions, but they saw no actual foes. No snarling Purestrains, no disgusting hybrids, nothing impeded their path.</p><p>Hevostan was not pleased by this state of affairs, it was contrary to expected doctrine and if there was one thing the Techmarine loathed it was unexpected variables in his prognostic algorithms. He kept his axe close as they marched in lockstep, the broad bulk of the Terminators blocking his sight ahead and behind. His internal auspex swept the area but was confounded by the mass of metal surrounding them, pressing in tight all around. To increase their chances they were taking a circular approach, avoiding primary passageways and transits, favouring smaller access ways that might pass unnoticed. It was taking longer certainly, but the evidence suggested it was working.</p><p>"I don't like this," Toran hissed over a closed vox-link from one step behind, "They should have overtaken us by now."</p><p>"It is perturbing," Hevostan admitted, "I can only conclude the mass of Genestealers is unaware of the complexity of this ship's internal workings."</p><p>Toran scoffed, "They've had free run of the Manifest Destiny for years, they must surely know every inch of her."</p><p>"Then thank the Omnissiah for small miracles," Hevostan retorted.</p><p>"Miracles are rare in my experience," Toran remarked, "Traps are far more commonplace."</p><p>"Then keep a watchful eye out," Hevostan rebuked as he closed the link.</p><p>Silence fell at last but Hevostan was not amused. Toran's questions had prompted an unease within him, a certainty that their situation was more perilous than they knew. It was typical of the Marine; he was always prodding and poking at things, ever thinking about issues best left unexplored. They had met years earlier, when Toran displayed uncommon ingenuity to destroy a Defiler, a remarkable achievement for one on his first mission as a full Brother. Yet little did Toran know Hevostan had also been tasked with judging the young Marine and determine his worthiness to join the Techmarines.</p><p>Toran's name had come to Hevostan's attention long before they ever met. He had been marked out in the scout-barracks as an unorthodox thinker and a radical intellect, possessing a wit that seemed able to stray beyond accepted doctrine. That he would stand out from the rank and file was obvious, a prospect that could be dangerous in the hidebound Imperium, yet the Chapter had need of thinkers as well as killers and his name had been passed to the various specialities. Unfortunately High Chaplain Samect had judged Toran lacking moral certitude; he was always questioning when a Chaplain must embody absolute moral authority. The Apothecaries had deemed him too independent, too likely to follow his own direction instead of bowing to Chief Apothecary Lessall's will. The Librarians for their part had laughed at the very notion, saying he had as much psychic potential as a rock. So that left the Techmarines.</p><p>Hevostan had found Toran intelligent, quick-witted and able to grasp the higher mysteries of the Cult Technis. Unfortunately he also displayed a distressing tendency for innovation, invention and original thought, coming up with tactics and strategies beyond the Codex's scope. Hevostan saw then Toran was not fit to join the Sodality of Techmarines, and had vetoed his name. Unknown to Toran had been rejected by all and sent back to live out an inglorious career in the Reserves. Yet he had surprised all by excelling, rising to the rank of Sergeant, then to the First Company. An unexpected turn of events and one Hevostan did not know how to process.</p><p>His musings were brought to a halt as Sergeant Starn called, "We're here!"</p><p>"Any contacts?" Athead called from the rear.</p><p>"Negative, it's wide open and unguarded," Starn replied.</p><p>Hevostan was surprised to hear that and as the party emerged into a wider concourse he saw it was true. They had entered the primary Logic Engines via a small portal but still the sight took his breath away. In ordered rows bulky Data-looms rose to a ceiling twenty metres above their heads. Each one was a black pillar as broad and wide as a Land Raider, surrounded by chugging coolant devices and hissing steam pipes. Ancient waxy purity seals adorned everything, many of them crumbling with age and paper streamers so faded as to be illegible. Here and there grey-faced Servitors trundled about on caterpillar tracks, tending to the holy artefact with total indifference to their intrusion, or the ship's current masters. The air was hot and close, filled with moisture but Hevostan was filled with sacred reverence. These devices perform the trillions of computations necessary to manage a starship the size of a city, ordering everything from the firing of the weapon batteries to the flushing of the sewage pipes. The beating heart of the Machine Spirit and a holy receptacle of the Omnissiah's grace, to witness this was to gaze upon the majesty of the Cult Technis in all its glory.</p><p>Unfortunately Zeax spoke up, "Well we're here, let's get on with it."</p><p>Hevostan gritted his teeth in annoyance and said, "Step back and let me work."</p><p>Hevostan pushed the Terminators, who took up a guard stance as he moved to a data-console. The incense burners had long since expired and the wax candles were dribbles running down the sides of the panels. Annoyed by this Hevostan took out a ceremonial censor and began sprinkling anointed oils upon the runes as he chanted in Binaric. The ritual appeasement took a couple of minutes, during which everyone was thankfully silent until Hevostan was satisfied with his labours. He put away his censor then flexed his right gauntlet to eject a data-spike before inserting it into a port interface.</p><p>Blessed realms of data opened up in Hevostan's mind, streams of information churning through his consciousness like a fast-flowing river. Swathes of operational reports, systems analyses and surveyor read outs flashed past in a torrent, log entries and past repair schedules lurking like sharp rocks just under the surface. The Noosphere was too much for one mind to process, even an augmented Techmarine could not comprehend a starship's operation single-handed, to try was to risk insanity. Hevostan was a like a small boat navigating a dangerous river rapid, focusing only on his immediate actions and trying to reach his destination without being dashed asunder.</p><p>With expert code-strokes Hevostan manoeuvred his way to the relevant files, dodging riptides of reports and sucking whirlpools of unread logs. His focus was singular and he soon found what he was looking for, a sealed section of the Noosphere, locked behind firewalls of puissant might. Fortunately the Forgemaster had provided the keys to open this vault of data and Hevostan downloaded the command-phrases in an instant. The firewalls dropped and the data was his, a treasure beyond compare. He longed to open the files and read them, but was not high enough in rank as to gaze upon such Holy Scripture, only the Forgemaster had such authority. Instead he saved them to an info-scroll and ejected a hard-copy.</p><p>In the physical world two seconds had passed and Hevostan's eyes saw a thick silicon tube being ejected from the console. He snatched it up in his free hand, then slotted it into a special Adamantium scroll-casing attached to his thigh armour. The relic files were his, the lost artefacts were with the Sodality once more.</p><p>From the side Toran's voice injected, "What's that?"</p><p>He really couldn't help himself Hevostan grumbled to himself, always with the questions. In annoyance he spat, "The Epistles of the Binary Apostle Ijunte Phall."</p><p>"Who?" Toran asked innocently.</p><p>"The Founders Fathers of the Mechancius itself," Hevostan explained curtly, "Those who first heard the call of the Omnissiah and undertook a pilgrimage to Mars to establish the sect. Their names are legends, their deeds myths and whispers from the past. Little indeed is known of them but the Chapter uncovered three letters from one of their number during the razing of the Hereteks of Eundaa."</p><p>"Letters?" Zeax scoffed, "We came all this way for three letters from some millennia-dead cogboy?!"</p><p>Hevostan was offended by that and snapped, "Holy missives, of incalculable worth. We were entrusted to return them to the Holy Synod of Mars; their loss brought a stern condemnation of our order from the Fabricator General himself. Returning these will be a cause of celebration on Mars."</p><p>"Enough," Athead barked, "We have the relics, let us move on."</p><p>"Wait…" Hevostan breathed as something caught his eye, in the data flows a log had arisen, one that demanded his attention. He was still connected and took a second to open the file and read the contents. Dates and events and records played out and left him cold, a rush of dread horror at what he was seeing. Alarm surged through him and he barked, "Captain, we must get the bridge!"</p><p>"What, what is the matter?" Athead started.</p><p>"I'm not sure, but if what I'm seeing is right we are in far more danger than we ever dreamt, the whole Imperium is. I have to confirm this on the bridge, only there can I check these readings. Hurry Captain, for the sake of Mars and Terra, hurry!"</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Vacuus Cymba Chapter 7</p><p>The Terminators moved twice as fast now, urging their plate to its limit to reach their goal. At Hevostan's urging they hastened to the bridge, determined to crush any opposition in their way. That time was running out was obvious to all, the sense of unseen foes around every corner growing by the second. They knew they were outnumbered beyond any prospect of victory, yet the elite of the First Company were not ones to be rebuffed by impossible odds and so they pressed ever deeper into the home of their enemy.</p><p>Among them First Captain Athead was growing more concerned. The Techmarine refused to divulge what was troubling him but it seemed dire indeed to provoke so emotional a response from the acolyte of the Cult Technis, this was as close to panic as Athead had ever seen a devotee of Mars get. Athead kept the Sword of Thiel held ready as he strode on, his superior Tartarus plate granting him an edge in agility over his brethren. The others lumbered on in their Indomitus pattern plate, bulkier but more robust in close confines.</p><p>Athead blinked-clicked a private vox-link to Starn as called, "Sergeant, how much further?"</p><p>"Three more decks," Starn replied.</p><p>"We must redouble our efforts to reach the bridge," Athead affirmed, "I've never seen a Techmarine so agitated."</p><p>"I'm not so sure, I remember them being apocalyptic after Sucaris," Starn commented.</p><p>"Is that a rebuke?" Athead countered pointedly.</p><p>"No Brother-Captain," Starn stated, "Merely an observation."</p><p>"Keep the observations to a minimum and a sharp eye out for foes," Athead ordered as he cut the link.</p><p>Athead kept sharp himself yet thanks to an Astartes' ability to multi-task a part of his mind sighed to himself at the reminder of his past. He knew his name was cursed among the Techmarines but he refused to accept any blame for what he had done. The situation had demanded action and he had been the man in the spot. They didn't understand, they hadn't been there. The techmarines only saw the devastation and the losses, not the reasons for it. Athead knew he had acted correctly that day and refused to accept any condemnation for what happened.</p><p>Athead cast his eye over the squad and judged them ready for what was to come. They were the finest warriors in the Chapter, the best of the best, each ready to lay down their lives for the cause. Athead knew they were peerless champions, but also unique souls in their own right. Starn as rigid and unbending an adherent to the Codex as one could wish for, but lacking the flair to see beyond those strictures. Lorath, fierce and zealous but made bitter by lack of promotion, unable to see his resentment was what made him unfit to lead. Priyar, bold and brave but too light-hearted to command, too unwilling to make the hard choices. And then there was Zeax, a hardened veteran with keen tactical acumen, but he lacked the fire to drive Marines forward, his spirit was too snide and pessimistic to command.</p><p>That left Toran and Athead gave their newest recruit a moment's consideration. Fresh and untempered in the First, Toran was having trouble fitting in with his new Brothers. His incessant need to question and think were marks against his worth as a warrior, yet those very qualities were what made him stand out. In his life he had shown an ability to innovate and adapt, to see the wider situation and the unexpected path to victory. Athead approved of this; he had always considered the Codex Astartes the foundation of victory, not the totality. More than this Toran showed a fierce devotion to the Storm Herald's ideals, he believed in the Chapter's nobility and their calling with all his heart.</p><p>Athead judged Toran would rise far someday, perhaps even to a Captaincy, but there were two problems he had to overcome. First he was too friendly with his squadmates, a commander could not afford to be too close to those he may have to sacrifice. Second, he'd never served in the battle companies, only the Reserves under Ninth Captain Phalros, a dull and plodding officer who refuted the Emperor's divinity. Athead and Phalros were bitterly opposed over that concern, as was the wider chapter and he worried that a secular attitude may have rubbed off on Toran. For these reasons it was widely considered best that Toran be held back for a time, to unlearn some of the mistakes of his youth. Yes, a century serving in the First should knock off a few rough edges and make Toran worthy.</p><p>While watching every turn and passing corridor for threats Athead opened a vox-link to Toran and ordered, "Give me your assessment of the situation and our prospects for success."</p><p>Toran responded crisply, "The odds are long and we are seriously outnumbered, but we shall prevail."</p><p>"Your reason for this assertion," Athead pressed.</p><p>"We are the Terminator elite, we do not fail," Toran replied.</p><p>"Exactly right," Athead warmly replied, "I see you picked up something in the First Company Barracks."</p><p>Toran started to say something but bit off his response. Athead sighed; even when he was silent it was obvious Toran yearned to question everything, the words hanging over his head like a firebrand. Athead decided to indulge him this once and said, "You wish to ask something?"</p><p>"With respect," Toran enquired, "I understand why Hevostan is here, but why did you come on a basic sweep and clear mission?"</p><p>"Because I chose to be here," Athead stated, "The nice thing about being First Captain is I can go wherever I please. I never had much use for being told I shouldn't go somewhere, must have been my upbringing on Ka Mua."</p><p>Toran sounded surprised as he said, "You come from the industrial continent... I wasn't aware the Chapter recruited from there. They have a reputation..."</p><p>He trailed off but Athead chuckled, "A reputation off criminality and moral laxity, which is entirely deserved. Yet the street-gangs do produce fierce fighters. The jungles of Trux have nothing over the back-alleys of Ka Mua. I was recruited and fought my way up the ranks to First Captain by sheer merit of letting nothing stand in my way, though all expected me to fail at every turn. And as the Divine Emperor is my witness, we shall triumph again this day."</p><p>"And how did you come to hold the Sword of Thiel?" Toran asked.</p><p>"A long story, one I cannot do justice in a combat environment," Athead chided, "Focus on the task at hand and learn how the First wages war."</p><p>Toran fell into blessed silence at last as Athead judged they would soon reach the bridge. He was confident they would succeed in capturing it, but what came after was a mystery. Athead judged he could only meet it as it came, trusting in the squad's valour to see them through. Surely whatever lay in store could not dream of standing against the Divine Emperor's Angels of Death.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Vacuus Cymba Chapter 8</p><p>The bridge was a smoking ruin, blown out consoles and burning servitors filling the long nave with flickering light. Smoke filled the air and the walls were cratered with bolter impacts while the command pews had been ripped apart in the clash of steel and claw. Scattered across the decks were the bloody remains of genestealer hybrids and purestrains. They had fought viciously and with deadly skill but it had been pointless; the Terminators had waded through them with overwhelming force and cut them down in droves, their ancient plate proof against the weapons of the foe.</p><p>At the far end of the bridge the squad were engaging the last remnants of the horde, crushing and shattering chitin amour with slamming blows from their fists. A last purestrain leapt at Captain Athead and raked its claws down his plate, his glorious heraldry was marred and the golden chains of office were ripped asunder but it failed to penetrate the blessed armour. In return he swung the Sword of Thiel in a vertical stroke, slicing the Xeno into two neat halves that fell to the deck as the entrails spilled out. Silence fell at last and the squad lumbered about looking for survivors but there were none. Captain Athead swiped the purple gore off his depowered blade and said, "Their Broodmind cannot have failed to recognise this attack, we will not have long until more of them arrive. Sergeant Starn secure this area, Techmarine beseech the Machine Spirit for the ship's logs and be swift about it."</p><p>Hevostan rushed over to a lone surviving console an extended a data-spike from the back of one gauntlet. He located an interface port but before connecting he first removed an incense stick from his tool belt and lit it, then he began chanting appeasing litanies from the Rites of Awakening. Meanwhile Sergeant Starn turned his back on the sacred mysteries of the Cult Mechanicus and said, "Lorath, Zeax secure the hatch while Toran and Priyar sweep for any survivors."</p><p>The squad broke up and went to their posts as Toran and Priyar began kicking over bodies and making sure there were none left alive. As they worked Toran glanced about and realised for the first time in years he was not being closely watched, he opened a private vox link to his battle brother and said, "Priyar are you at all concerned about our situation, we are trapped on this ship with untold numbers of Xenos and no way of contacting the Chapter."</p><p>Priyar replied, "All our missions are suicidal, that is what First Company is for, trust the Captain he will see us through."</p><p>Toran noted his wording of the phrase and casually asked as if were of no important, "The Captain seems to have issue with our Techmarine Brother."</p><p>Priyar sounded unconcerned as he said, "More like the order of Techmarines has issue with him."</p><p>Toran checked the privacy of their link was secure and asked more directly, "What could possibly have inspired such animosity?"</p><p>"You don't know?" Priyar enquired.</p><p>"I wouldn't ask if I did," Toran pointed out.</p><p>Priyar drew in a breath as they worked and explained, "It was on Sucaris a few decades back, among the Dreaming Spires of Scholarship. The planet was infiltrated by the vile Alpha Legion, a sudden uprising that was a cover their assault."</p><p>"Alpha Legion, I saw one of their sorcerers once. Treacherous and deceitful, I trust Athead put them down like the mutts they are."</p><p>Priyar sighed, "Alas their schemes were well advanced before they revealed themselves and our Battlebarge arrived nearly too late. Our Librarians prophesied their objective was a tech-fane of some significance, but we were too late to stop them reaching it. They would be in and away with their prize before we could cut them off. So Athead ordered a massed Whirlwind bombardment of the fane. He brought the place down on their heads, killing them all, at cost of whatever secret lore was stashed there."</p><p>Toran was stunned and said, "I see why the Techmarines are incensed, they hold knowledge to be sacred, better to sacrifice a Company than ancient wisdoms."</p><p>"They've never forgiven him, but his judgement was final. Why do you care anyway?"</p><p>"Just trying to know my new brother's hearts," said Toran then he changed the subject, "What is that you have there?"</p><p>Priyar was examining one of the corpses of the bridge crew, the man had been torn in half by a bolt round but the remaining torso was dressed in the filthy remnants of a serf's uniform. Priyar looked up as Toran approached and remarked, "This man was once a loyal servant of the Chapter, what was he doing working alongside alien monsters?"</p><p>Toran looked down sadly and reflected, "Genestealers do more than corrupt the genetics of their victims, once infected they draw them into the broodmind. They retain all of their skills and memories but their loyalties are subverted, they become willing servants of the Xenos."</p><p>"But this is not normal genestealer behaviour," mused Priyar, "They hide and infect, travelling in the bowels of Imperial ships and slipping onto worlds unnoticed. I have never heard of them taking over a whole ship and blowing up escort frigates with our own guns."</p><p>Toran was puzzled too but said, "The mystery deepens, we must be alert for the unexpected to occur."</p><p>By the bridge console Hevostan let out a sharp cry and everybody turned round to see he had plugged into the ship and was shaking as his mind interfaced with the Machine Spirits. He quivered as his mind processed thousands of reports and log entries, running through years' worth of data in seconds. The squad held their positions but Starn and Athead marched over to stand by him, they waited long minutes as Hevostan stood stock still muttering under his breath, "Processing, processing, processing."</p><p>At long last Hevostan sighed and disconnected from the console, withdrawing his mechandrite back into his gauntlet. They gave him a moment to compose himself then Athead said, "Well what did you learn?"</p><p>Hevostan drew in a deep breath and said hoarsely, "This is far worse than any of us thought. The logs show that Manifest Destiny was sent off course by a Warp Storm, far off course. They were blown right out to the Halo Zone beneath the galaxy and there they found something, a vast swarm of Tyranids, millions of Hive ships and trillions of monsters, all heading into the galaxy."</p><p>"What happened then?" asked Starn.</p><p>Hevostan craned his head as if trying to dislodge a burr as he replied, "The ship was boarded by genestealer organisms, they killed the Navigator and Astropaths, infected the rest of crew and subsumed them into the brood consciousness. Then the logs get erratic, it seems the crew started to limp back into Imperial space, running far ahead of the Hive fleet. There are records of the crew giving birth in the dank corners of the ship, twisted abominations were spawned in the dark, but they cherished them."</p><p>Athead interrupted to ask "Can you project the Hive Fleet's course?"</p><p>Hevostan answered, "The Logic engines were never repurposed, they have been running projections of the Hive's original course for thirty years. It's heading straight up into the galactic plane."</p><p>Athead growled, "The Imperium is in greater danger than we realised."</p><p>Starn however sounded confused as he said, "Wait, the Eastern Fringe is far from here, so why did the crew head here?"</p><p>Hevostan said, "Because this fleet is not coming from the east, its rising straight up into Segmentum Tempestus from below."</p><p>Athead sounded aghast as he said, "A pincer attack. They throw massive forces at our walls to draw attention, then drive a second thrust into our exposed rear. Terra will never see it coming and if they take Angle's Redoubt the entire St Karyl Trail will be severed, the Imperium will lose a major warp route into the galactic south."</p><p>Hevostan expanded, "It is far worse than that, this fleet is moving across a board front, between them the Shadow in the Warp will create a cordon between Segmentum's Solar and Tempestus, cutting off the entire southern third of the galaxy. The Imperium will be rendered unable to divert any forces to stop the advance of the main Hive Fleet."</p><p>Starn asked, "So why did they need our ship?"</p><p>Hevostan answered, "The Manifest Destiny's holds are full of sleeping Lictors, Mawlocs, Tervigons, Warriors and genus I don't even have names for. The logs speak of preparing the way for the coming invasion; they will infiltrate and undermine any resistance Angle's Redoubt can muster. By the time the fleet arrives in a few years' time the defences will be in tatters."</p><p>Athead snarled, "This is a threat beyond any we have ever imagined we must warn the Chapter!"</p><p>Starn asked, "Can we activate the Vox arrays and transmit a warning?"</p><p>Hevostan shook his head, and said, "No the Vox arrays have been physically destroyed, there is no way to transmit anything from this ship. Even navigation beacons have been disabled to prevent early detection."</p><p>"Damn clever bugs" snarled Starn.</p><p>"Even our suit Vox's are too weak to be detected before it is too late," growled Athead, "We must get word out some other way."</p><p>Hevostan began making adjustments on his vambrace and said, "I am accessing the squad network and beseeching the Machine Spirits to safeguard this data, even if we die here then should any of our suits be found the Imperium can access these records."</p><p>Starn said, "That still leaves the problem of what to do about this ship."</p><p>Athead declared, "We cannot allow it to deliver its cargo, we must destroy it ourselves. Hevostan can you invoke the Rite of Self-Immolation from here?"</p><p>Hevostan shook his head and said, "The reactors are cold and slumbering, it would take a great deal of time to awaken their spirits. Any hybrids in the Enginarium would detect the overload and easily override our efforts. The only way to do this would be to access the reactors themselves and destabilise the Spirits of Containment directly."</p><p>"Then our course is set," Athead stated boldly, "The fate of the Imperium itself hangs in the balance. We must reach the Enginarium, destroy anything in our way and breach the reactors before this ship reaches its destination."</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Vacuus Cymba Chapter 9</p><p>Deep in the bowels of the ship a battle raged. The Terminators had approached the Enginarium along a disused tunnel, packed with energy cables and plasma distribution conduits. They had thought the oblique approach would be undetectable, they had been wrong. The Terminators stood in a line across the corridor, unleashing their Storm Bolters and Heavy Flamer in a torrent of destruction. Captain Athead stood proudly alongside them in his Tartaros pattern plate, losing blast after blast from his Combi-plasma as he cried, "Forwards, push forwards, let nothing stop you!"</p><p>Yet the foe they faced was insurmountable. From the bowels of the ship poured endless waves of living flesh and chitin, cascading from the Enginarium like a great river bursting its banks. An endless torrent of genestealers came at them, fangs bared and claws outstretched. The deck plates shivered with the pounding of their malformed feet and the air was thick with hissed challenges and gnashing teeth. They moved as one, each and every individual compelled by the Broodmind to attack, and caring less for their losses than a man would a dropped hair.</p><p>Toran stood in the line with Storm Bolter juddering in his grip. Continuous fire was holding the enemy at bay but he was acutely aware of the diminishing ammunition counter in his vision and the dwindling supply of magazines he had left. To his right Zeax was unleashing long bursts of Promethium from his heavy flamer, setting alight a brood of hybrids, turning them into living candles but they pressed on regardless. Toran spied a purestrain amongst them and redirected his weapon, but before he could fire a burst from Lorath ripped it apart. Purple blood sprayed high but the rest of its kindred cared not, pressing their attack relentlessly. Lorath was forced to defend himself, swinging his fist wildly as they clawed at his armour.</p><p>Toran's training would have him intervene but he had problems of his own. He spied a trio of purestrains, bounding forwards with talons raised. He turned his storm bolter toward them and cut one down in a spray of explosive rounds but the other two slithered by unharmed. They pounced and slashed down with their long talons and the tips scored long groves across the top of his pauldrons, chipping the honoured crux terminatus embedded there. Toran snarled in righteous anger at the dishonour done to his venerable plate. He swung his power fist laterally about and caught one purestrain in the midriff tearing it in half with a shower of gore.</p><p>While he was distracted the third whipped forwards and wrapped two of its long arms around his torso, trying to squeeze him to death. Tactical Dreadnought plate groaned under the constricting pressure but did not break, leaving Toran wrapped in a thrashing blanket of limbs. He tried to punch the Xeno but the alien swayed and jerked, pulling him off balance and he could not make contact. It was like wresting a snake, every time he tried to lash out it slithered around, stabbing and gouging with its free claws all the while. Its hideous face was inches from his helm and the vileness of the alien struck Toran to the core. It was loathsome and repulsive, the face of all xenos horrors that assailed mankind and he yearned to smash its head in with all his hatred.</p><p>Vexed Toran swung again, but missed his target and without realising it his fist over-extended and impacted a plasma conduit, tearing a microscopic fissure in the casing. A razor thin stream of plasma erupted from the chink in the pipe and where it contacted moist air it flash-boiled into vapour. Toran saw the jetting stream and before his conscious mind could even register what he was doing he was pounding forwards, ramming the bulk of the Genestealer up against the pipe.</p><p>The Xeno screamed inhumanly as its flesh charred and blackened from the heat of the fire. It reverted to instinctive behaviour and tried to disengage but Toran clamped his power fist around its throat and held firm. Inexorably he forced its head down, inch by inch, as it struggled to break free but he was merciless and slowly dragged its skull into the plasma stream. Flesh broiled and dissolved in the searing blast and Toran felt fierce joy whelm within his hearts as he watched the Xenos filth burn to ash, but he did not escape unscathed himself. As he pulled back plasma splashed up his arm and over his Power Fist, burning away the blessed casing and dissolving the energy cables before his eyes.</p><p>Terminator plate was legendarily thick and impervious but that did not make it immune. Flashing warning signs blazed in Toran's visual feed and he was forced to jettison the mighty fist from his arm, desperately ripping out cables and clamps before plasma chewed his arm off. Sorrow for the noble spirit of the weapon tore at him, its ignoble ending a sad conclusion to a tale of leal service. Yet now was no time to mourn and Toran discarded the ruined weapon and returned to the battle, seeing that Priyar was fighting off a horde of filthy hybrids, mobbed in a crush of heaving flesh. Toran raised his storm bolter and let off a short burst, his brother's plate was proof against the rounds but the salvo cut half a dozen down from behind, freeing him from their embrace.</p><p>There was no time for words of thanks but together they cleared a space around them and saw that Captain Athead was wading forwards through the foe, still trying to break into the Enginarium. The Sword of Thiel was rising and falling like a metronome and every swing carved apart a multi-limbed horror as he pressed his attack. At his left Hevostan was fending off foes with his servo arm, while to his right Starn's fist was hammering the enemy, destroying everything that came close. Toran and the rest raced to catch up, smashing aside all in their way to stand with their Captain and it seemed for a moment that they would make it, that they would break through the horde and win the day but then a new opponent entered the fray.</p><p>From the section ahead loomed a massive shadow, standing head and shoulders above even the greatest of the Purestrains. Its hide was mottled with age and cunning dwelt in its eyes, it had two huge taloned hands, arching up high, a barbed tail sweeping out behind it and two lesser arms bearing a bonesword and a whip. It was the very embodiment of the Broodmind, the incarnation of its hunger and depthless cunning, the silhouette that had doomed whole worlds. Toran's memories implants flared at the very sight of it and he roared, "Patriarch!"</p><p>All were given pause but Captain Athead refused to be daunted by the sight. He raised his sword high as he charged and Toran lost sight of the epic duel as a fresh wave of horrors skittered past the battling pair. Thousands more leaping hybrids bounded into combat and the Terminators slammed shoulder to shoulder, forming a ring of steel. They smote the foe like the ancient mythic heroes of old yet they were few and the Genestealers had numbers beyond counting. The sheer weight of the horde was forcing them back towards the wall of the corridor, pushing them away from the duel while the flashing plasma created a strobing effect that made it seem they were fighting within a nightmare. Without a power fist Toran was the weak link in the chain and he saw a Purestrain charging straight at him, a blast from his storm bolter forced it back a pace but failed to penetrate its knotted carapace.</p><p>In the momentary gap Toran saw Captain Athead was duelling the Patriarch. The Sword of Thiel was a dazzling whirlwind of steel and somehow he had managed to slash a vicious wound in to its abdomen but it was not enough to kill it. The Patriarch loomed over the valiant Captain and screamed in fury then stabbed down upon his shoulders with both its talons. It was the moment upon which the whole battle would swing: hero against monster, man against beast, ancient science against alien abomination. Blessed plate met the razor barbs of the talons and almost proved its equal: almost.</p><p>With the full weight of the monster behind them the twin blades punched through the plate and speared deeply into the Captain's torso. Athead roared in agony as his spine was severed and he lost all feeling in his legs. The Patriarch in turn roared in triumph and lifted him up towards its jaws, opening its mouth wide to swallow the dying Captain. Even in death Athead refused to surrender and he raised his sword to land one last blow, yet at the last moment he hesitated. Toran realised that the Captain had seen the embattled squad beset by foes and about to be overrun. Reality paused for an instant and Toran could almost see the Captain's mind working; the glories of one last kill against the lives of his battle brothers, vengeance or duty. The choice was clear and made selflessly.</p><p>With the last of his strength Athead swung his relic blade around and cried, "Take it!" as he threw it towards the embattled Terminators. Then the Patriarch jerked forwards and slammed its jaws down on his helm, tearing out his brains and swallowing them. Beset by a Purestrain Toran still managed to lift one hand and snatch the spinning Sword of Thiel from the air. He grasped the hilt tightly and swung it down hard. Wrought in ancient times the sword had been the bane of Daemons themselves and its blazing energy field met Xeno chitin, ripping it apart it like wet parchment. The foe exploded into gore and Toran lashed out left and right, cutting down a Xeno with every stroke. The Sword of Thiel felt right in his hands and with it he carved apart everything in reach. He channelled his rage and contempt into the blows, smiting and obliterating anything that approached him in a blaze of righteous scorn.</p><p>Yet it was not enough for the endless hordes continued to cascade out of the Enginarium section in a flood of bodies and for every foe he cut down five more took its place. The Terminators stood proud in a rising ocean of chittering Xeno monsters, as Sergeant Starn shouted, "Hold the line! Die well, die proud!"</p><p>Toran looked out at the endless tide of monsters and realised the odds against them were no longer merely steep, they were insurmountable. They were all dead men and dead men have nothing to lose, so Toran gathered his strength and yelled, "Zeax, Lorath, shield Hevostan!"</p><p>Instinctively the two brothers slammed their backs up against the Techmarine, guarding his form with their awesome bulk. Toran took the Sword of Thiel in both hands and held it high shouting, "We are the Emperor's Storm!"</p><p>Then with a cry of, "We are his Wrath!" he spun on his heel and sliced the blade swiftly across the chink in the plasma conduit beside him.</p><p>Metal parted and split under the power of the blow, ripping open the tiny gap into a massive tear and unleashing pure starfire. Instantly plasma spilled out in geyser of incandescent fury and engulfed the rising tide of Xeno abominations. Chitin melted and flesh broiled in the inferno as the monsters screeched in agony and in their cries echoed the frustration of the Broodmind. The conduit continued to eject burning plasma like a volcano, sweeping away all the monsters save one. For the Patriarch fled with specks of plasma burning away at its hide, letting its minions die as it escaped.</p><p>Unfortunately the Terminators had no time to celebrate their victory for the plasma did not discriminate and swept over them too: drowning them in the liquid fury of a dying star.</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Vacuus Cymba Chapter 10</p><p>The alcove was grey and bare, little more than an empty space left between two huge girders in the ship's superstructure. It was a featureless and sterile place with nothing to differentiate it from a thousand other such places in the hull, which made it the perfect place for the Terminators to take refuge and regroup. They were stood in a loose circle, regarding each other and the damage they had taken in battle. The plasma fire had cut off the tide and bought them time to fall back, but it had been a bitter defeat. Each of them had seen their armour scorched bare by the plasma, stripped of every insignia, purity seal and laurel of victory. Even their Chapter's colours had been peeled off leaving them standing in bare ceramite and adamantium. To add injury to insult their plate was battered and blistered, the redoubtable spirits of the armour had saved their lives but in doing so vital mechanisms and sub-systems had been fused and completely burnt out. Zeax's Heavy Flamer in particular was a molten mass of metal, twisted and useless, but he was not able to drop it since it had melted around the denser Ceramite of his arm.</p><p>Toran stood stock still listening to the conversation, unable to move for his legs had locked solid, rendering him immobile. Hevostan was kneeling by him, feverishly working away at the joints with his tools and that was the least of the squad's hurts. The Techmarine had been left no options but to take all their Machine Spirits off-line while he affected emergency field repairs and the squad was effectively helpless until he finished. Toran felt odd to be locked in cold plate, he could barely shift his arms and they were so slow and clumsy he felt he was moving underwater, but in truth he was far more concerned about Hevostan. The techmarine had been shielded from the blast by the bulk of his brothers but even so he had still suffered far worse than any of them. His servo arm was reduced to slag while his right arm was clenched firmly against his abdomen, as if holding something important still within him. Worse than that was the silence, he had not uttered a word as they fell back from the Enginarium and when they stopped had done nothing but mutely tend to their gear.</p><p>Toran dragged his attention back to the conversation; the squad was talking with their helms off. The vox net was off line while Hevostan worked and it seemed peculiar to see everybody's faces. Priyar had the swarthy complexion common to natives of the southern archipelagos of their homeworld and he was saying, "It was almost like they knew we were coming."</p><p>Zeax's face was a mass of burned scar tissue, a lifetime of war disguising his origins as he replied, "They did."</p><p>Priyar spat, "But how?"</p><p>Starn had the gaunt features indicative of those who lived on the artic wastes of the northern pole, a land heavily polluted by industrial spill off from the lone Mechanicus Forge of Lujan II. Such recruits were few, their frames diseased and wasted by toxic contamination, most expected them to die in training, Starn however had proved them wrong with a lifetime of valourous service and was saying, "The original crew was subsumed by the genestealers, the Broodmind knows everything the crew did, it knows how we think and how we fight."</p><p>Lorath had the sharp angular features of a native of Trux, a secondary recruiting world much valued for the ferocity of its natives, and was saying, "Either way it forced us into a humiliating defeat, us the supposedly invincible brothers of First Company…. Retreating."</p><p>The word made everybody squirm, the very notion of retreating anathema to any Space Marine but Toran countered, "A tactical withdrawal, to reassess the Theoretical and enact a new Practical."</p><p>Lorath snarled back, "Don't think you have a place to talk here, that stunt with the plasma junction nearly ended the mission and almost killed us all."</p><p>Toran went red-faced at the rebuke but Priyar hissed, "That stunt saved your life, you should be thanking him."</p><p>Starn agreed, "The Codex is clear on this matter, the Primarch never endorsed pointless last stands. He wrote that if an objective could not be taken it must be circumvented."</p><p>"So what now?" Zeax grumbled.</p><p>Starn sighed, "The Enginarium is out of our reach, the Codex lists the next viable target as being the Auxillary Bridge. We could override Astrogation and steer this ship into the nearest dead moon."</p><p>Hevostan seemed to have finished with Toran's plate and moved on to Zeax's shaking his head at the sight of the melted flamer. Toran watched him with concern as he said, "That will not work either. You said it yourself, the Broodmind knows our tactics, it will be expecting us to go there."</p><p>Starn looked at him suspiciously and probed, "What are you suggesting?"</p><p>Toran replied, "If the enemy thinks it can predict our actions, so our Practical must be to become unpredictable and strike where it is not expecting."</p><p>Priyar shook his head and said, "I am not sure what you are thinking but there are only so many ways to destroy a ship this size, the Broodmind will have every vulnerable point covered."</p><p>Toran cocked his head to one side and mused thoughtfully, "Perhaps not every vulnerability."</p><p>Lorath interrupted to bark, "Wait you're not seriously considering this?! He is a novice among us, why are you listening to him?"</p><p>Everybody turned to look at him in surprise and then Zeax replied, "He holds the Sword of Thiel."</p><p>Of all the responses Toran was expecting to hear that was most certainly not among them and it made him look down at his own hand, which still bore the electromagnetic longsword. Unlike the rest of his amour its metal was pristine and unblemished, the ancient mysteries wrought into its forging shielding it from harm. He glanced up again and saw the way everybody was looking at him with awe, or in Lorath's case resentment, and for some reason it made him distinctly uncomfortable. He looked at Sergeant Starn then slowly and with great effort he lifted the sword, holding it laterally to offer, "I am being presumptuous… this should be yours Brother-Sergeant."</p><p>A strange expression crossed Starn's face and he demurred, "I cannot."</p><p>Toran pressed the blade forwards insisting, "You are the senior brother it is only right you should bear it."</p><p>Starn actually lifted his hands palms outwards and said, "You cannot offer me that blade."</p><p>Toran was mystified by the reaction and lowered his arm, he looked about in confusion not understanding everybody's strange attitude. Priyar saw his bafflement and said, "Oh of course… you are new to the First Company and have yet to undertake the higher rites and rituals, you do not understand what it means to hold that blade. Legend says this sword was awarded to Aeonid Thiel at the battle of Calth by the Primarch himself. You are holding a relic that has known the touch of our gene-father Roboute Guilliman. It is no mere weapon… it is a legacy."</p><p>Toran looked down at his hand in amazement, scarcely able to believe he was holding something that had been touched by his gene-father, ten thousand years gone. Yet oddly he felt no special connection, no aura of divine splendour, it was a remarkable weapon but still just a weapon to him. Zeax however was nodding as if they were talking about the Golden Throne itself and said, "That sword has been passed from the hand of one brother to another, warrior to warrior, for five thousand years. In the history of the Chapter it has never been held by any Astartes who ranked less than a Captain and most of those went on to be First Captains and Chapter Masters."</p><p>Starn finished the narrative saying, "It cannot be set aside, handed off or gifted to another save in death. Tradition demands that this legacy is your burden to bear until you die."</p><p>Toran had no idea the blade had such a unique significance to the Chapter, of course he had heard tales and stories but they had always been rather big on hyperbole and somewhat short on details. It was a holy relic but then the Chapter had many such relics, each treasured and revered as touchstones of greatness. He had always assumed the sword was just another badge of rank and privilege for the most senior captains. Among the squad only Lorath did not seem impressed and begrudgingly said, "That is all well and good but we still have the little problem of a ship full of Genestealers to deal with."</p><p>Starn agreed, "The mission remains the same: destroy or cripple this ship and get word out to the Imperium of the coming invasion."</p><p>Priyar drew in a breath and said "We need a way to destroy this ship that does not involve any of the primary systems or critical areas; they will be guarded beyond our ability to overcome."</p><p>The squad looked at Hevostan but he seemed lost in his work, whatever was wrong with him blinded him to everything save his repairs of the delicate inner mechanisms of Zeax's suit. Yet suddenly the vox network roared with static and Hevostan stepped back satisfied as everybody felt their machine spirits stir into life once more and mobility returned. As they checked their weapons Toran drew in a breath and declared, "Brothers, there is one other way to destroy a ship."</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Vacuus Cymba Chapter11</p><p>The Manifest Destiny was a seething hive of activity, thousands of clawed monstrosities directed by the Broodmind to boil outwards. They filled every nook and cranny in a rising tide as they swept for the intruders in their nest and their hunger knew no bounds. The squad had been forced to move fast, pushing their lumbering Terminator plate to its maximum tolerances in order to stay ahead of the skittering nightmares on their tail. There had been no point in being elusive, the Xenos knew the ship as well as they did, so they had taken the most direct path to their goal, charging through junctions and access ways without pause.</p><p>Many times they had seen genestealer hybrids tending to the ship and obliterated them effortlessly with storm bolter fire. They had been swift and brutal executions but even then the squad knew that the hybrid's absence would be noted and would act like a beacon to the rest of the creatures: they did not have long. They pressed down a blank metal tunnel and at last they sighted their objective, a plain metal hatch indistinguishable from a thousand others, yet concealing something of vital importance.</p><p>The squad did not hesitate or pause but simply stormed through the hatch emerging into a vast chamber. The room was hundreds of metres long, thickly reinforced and filled with baffles, seals and energy fields. Along the walls were etched Formulaic entreaties to the Machine God and a looped psalm was blared over a tiny voxhailer to placate the spirits within. They all served to isolate explosives the size of buildings, for this was one of the ship's many magazine rooms. Scattered around the long echoing room were an assortment of twisted hybrids, they tended to the volatile munitions with care so precise it seemed bizarre coming from such inhuman freaks. Yet when the hybrids saw them emerge into the chamber the change in them was instantaneous, they dropped tools and ran screaming at the intruders with bestial expressions on their faces. The Terminators did not waste any of their dwindling Storm Bolter ammunition on the foe, meeting them with fist and blades only. The hybrids struck first, to scratch and chip away at the scorched armour, but in return they were ripped asunder by the doughty weight of the Terminator's weapons. Energy fields flared and blood was sprayed everywhere giving the Space Marines a new, more macabre paint scheme.</p><p>Toran thrust the Sword of Thiel at a mutated horror with four arms and as he did so he felt no resistance at all, a simple twist and a hybrid's corpse merely collapsed at his feet as he struck down another and another with merciless fury. The power of the blade was remarkable and he had never felt so deadly or so skilled, yet he did not feel like he owned the right to be holding it, he did not feel like he had earned this power or the burden that came with it. The sensation displeased him in a way he could not articulate, but he knew it grated on his soul.</p><p>The Terminators waded into the crowd, obliterating everything in reach, effortlessly smiting and rending the foe into steaming piles of gore. In seconds they had decimated the hybrids and Zeax claimed the last kill by swing his melted flamer like a club to stave in a hybrid's skull. Silence fell in the magazine and Toran took a moment to look about, noting the efficient placement of winches and the two reinforced hatches in the roof that led to the weapons arrays. It was an odd thought that generations of crew had lived their lives in this room, surrounded by ordnance that could obliterate them all should the slightest mistake occur. For this was no normal magazine, this was where the Manifest Destiny stored her Magma bombs.</p><p>Toran lowered his gaze and was surprised to see that everybody was standing still awaiting his next order, they expected the holder of the Sword of Thiel to take charge. Annoyed he drew in a breath and said, "Zeax secure the room and kill any survivors, Lorath, Starn start at opposite ends of the magazine, smash every dampening field and failsafe you can find. Priyar guard the door while Hevostan rigs the magma-bombs to detonate. Set the timer for one hour's delay only, if we are not off this ship by then we cannot risk the enemy finding and disarming the detonation sequence."</p><p>As the squad broke up and went to their posts Toran gritted his teeth in exasperation, his brother's attitude was growing weary and it was in total contradiction to the Codex Astartes. Starn was the Sergeant here and should be the one giving orders but for some baffling reason everybody kept looking to Toran for direction, well except for Lorath he could be counted on to be his typically sullen and resentful self. Still, it was galling to think they expected him to act like some epic hero simply because he held an ancient sword. Toran greatly admired his brother's ferocity and discipline, he would die for any one of them, but sometimes their archaic superstitions made him want to pull out his hair. Customs and rituals had their place of course, in fact he greatly respected the finer traditions of the Chapter but in his opinion they should not be allowed to interfere with the proper execution of battle or the chain of command. Yet his brothers persisted with their byzantine dogmas and creeds,</p><p>For the first time Toran wondered if perhaps he was the odd one out, if perhaps there had been some undetectable flaw in his hypno indoctrination. He had always benefitted from a freedom of thought that most Space Marines did not enjoy or perhaps it was more that he was a throwback to the era of the Great Crusade, when Astartes were more rational and had suffered no compromise with superstition. Toran snarled in frustration for these thoughts were beneath him, a Space Marine had to be sure and confident of purpose at all times but carrying this relic blade was making him doubt himself, a weakness no Astartes could tolerate. He decided that as soon as he returned to the Fortress Monastery he would speak to the Chaplains and beseech them to find some loophole in the traditions that would let him get rid of the blasted thing. Surely some of the more hidebound brothers would protest but he himself would be content to disappear back into the rank and file once more. If he was to rise in station he wanted to do it via his own merit, not because he lucked into grabbing a relic.</p><p>He banished the moment of doubt from his mind and began walking to inspect all was well with his brothers. Zeax was checking the corpses of the foe, making sure there were no surprises lurking for them while Hevostan was hunched over by single warhead. He still had not said a word to anyone and was clenching his right fist to his guts as if holding something still within him, his other arm was buried up to the shoulder within the bomb's casing making arcane adjustments to its inner workings.</p><p>Toran knew that any ship's magazine was designed specifically to prevent what the Space Marines were attempting; they were deliberately invested with layers of baffles, isolation points, vacuum chambers and dampening fields. On a normal ship that would have been enough but this was not a normal ship and this was not normal ordnance. Magma Bombs were city killers, designed to obliterate whole urban environments in one shot without leaving residual radiation. The last time Toran had served on this ship he had read a report on exactly what would happen if a single bomb ignited a chain reaction in the magazine and he had been shocked to learn just how volatile the munitions were. It was for this reason that the magazine was fitted with dozens upon dozens of fail safes to prevent premature detonations, fail safes Starn and Lorath were systematically smashing apart one by one. He could see that the pair were breaking every piece of equipment and safety feature they could find, Lorath in particular seemed to be taking great relish in punching holes into vacuum chambers and rendering them useless.</p><p>Toran left them to it and walked up to the hatch where Priyar was standing, sweeping back and forth with his Storm Bolter. He opened a private link to ask, "Anything yet?"</p><p>Priyar answered, "I have not seen anything but my asupex is going crazy with motion, they cannot be more than one or two compartments away. Hevostan better be fast or we will be trapped in here."</p><p>Toran deferred, "The mysteries of the Omnissiah are not for us to know, it will take as long as it takes."</p><p>Priyar grunted, "We must trust that the Machine Spirits are willing, we still need to get off this ship and warn Terra about the coming Hive Fleet."</p><p>Toran eyed his brother, weighing his words and wondering about his character, he decided to probe further and asked, "Brother, I need your honest assessment of the danger the Tyranids represent to the Imperium."</p><p>Priyar replied sternly, "There can be no doubt that they are a most dire threat, I would even say that the Imperium has not seen such calamity since the Age of Apostasy."</p><p>Toran considered his next words carefully and said, "Do you think our Chapter could stand alone before the might of a Hive Fleet?"</p><p>"Did you not see the records from Macragge?" Priyar scoffed, "Ultramar could barely stand before the Tyranid threat once. Facing a second wave will be a nightmare beyond any one army's ability to overcome."</p><p>Toran's next question was most leading, "What would you say if I told there are some who hold that the Chapter should be fighting alone, without direction or support from Terra, free to follow our own path?"</p><p>Priyar growled, "I have heard such talk before and anyone who says so is a fool. With the emergence of these Tyranids it is clear the Storm Heralds cannot fight alone, now more than ever we must stand united with our fellow men."</p><p>Toran was pleased by his response and saw in his brother a kindred spirit but before he could pursue the matter there was noise behind them. The pair turned to see Hevostan had finished his preparations and was swiftly riveting a panel back onto the Magma-bomb he had been working on. He finished by liberally sprinkling blessed oils onto the warhead then stood up and limped towards the hatch, walking past the brothers without saying a word. Toran realised the countdown had already begun and called, "To me Brothers and be swift, these fiends have less than one hour to live. We have to get off this ship before its doom takes us with it!"</p>
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Vacuus Cymba Chapter 12</p><p>Through the bleak corridors the squad raced, fighting for speed with every breath in their bodies. They raced against the clock to reach their boarding torpedo but time was against them. Every few minutes they ran into hybrids that fell upon them with claw and fang, they had dealt with each one but every fight cost them time: precious time they could not afford.</p><p>As they ran onwards Toran was checking the countdown in his vision and calculating their remaining time. He was not the only one for Zeax announced, "It is too late, even without another ambush we cannot make it to the torpedo in time."</p><p>The squad pulled up short, everybody knowing his words to be true and Lorath said, "We have to try."</p><p>Priyar countered, "No, it is impossible, we need an alternative."</p><p>Lorath urged, "The Thunderhawk bays?"</p><p>"Too far," replied Starn, "It would take twice as long."</p><p>"The saviour pods then," said Lorath, "Or the Teleport bays. Warp hells we could break into an assault squad's equipment locker and steal jump packs."</p><p>"Don't be ridiculous," said Zeax, "I say we find that Patriarch and make one last kill before the end."</p><p>"Redundant," Starn rebutted, "It will die anyway when the Magma-Bombs go off."</p><p>While they had all been talking Toran was looking at the deck signs and trying to pin point their location, then a thought suddenly occurred. He exclaimed, "Wait, there is one other option! We are near a tertiary loading dock. It was used by serfs to transfer personnel and perishable cargos between ships, there maybe be a craft in there we could use."</p><p>"Maybe?" barked Lorath, "You would risk everything on a maybe?"</p><p>Yet Priyar snorted, "A Thunderhawk Transporter, an Aquilla lander, Throne I would even take a servitor driven cargo tug right now."</p><p>Starn barked, "We have nothing to lose, we should at least try."</p><p>With the Sergeant's backing the squad could not argue any further and swiftly set off again, taking turns and hatches that led towards the outer hull. As they lumbered along they could hear skittering noises everywhere and their internal auspexs were whited out by the mass of motion as enemies closed from all directions. They pushed harder, straining their bulky plate to the maximum, until the servos groaned in protest. They hastened down a wide corridor until at last they passed under an arched gateway to burst out into the long hanger bay of the loading dock but then they pulled up in disappointment.</p><p>Before them the long bare floor of the hanger ran right up to the shimmering atmospheric integrity field. The deck was strewn with tools, cables and fuel bowsers but no bulky transporters. The deck's launch rails were empty of the larger craft they would need to evacuate, every rail was bare save one and all it carried was a tiny little Arvus Lighter. The squad walked up to it in disappointment and evaluated the craft. It was tiny, barely big enough to carry a half dozen men. For a couple of Space Marines it would have been a crushing squeeze, for five Terminators and a Techmarine it was physically impossible to fit inside. Nobody said what they were thinking but they all knew they had wasted too much time reaching this point; there was no time to find another route off the ship.</p><p>Priyar sucked in a breath and said forlornly, "Well that's it."</p><p>Zeax declared, "We die in service to the Emperor, there is no higher calling."</p><p>Lorath however was still looking for any option and said, "What if we just jump into the void and let inertia carry us away?"</p><p>Starn grimly retorted, "No, the bombs detonate in only a few minutes, we would not get clear in time."</p><p>Toran however was watching Hevostan, the Techmarine was busily connecting a fuel bowser to the Arvus and engaging the pumps. He frowned and said, "Wait… the lighter cannot carry all of us, but if Hevostan pilots it out of here maybe just one of us could fit into the rear compartment."</p><p>Everyone turned to look at him and Starn said, "Very well, you climb on board and get clear."</p><p>"Me?" asked Toran in surprise, "I meant that you should go, you are the senior brother."</p><p>Priyar countered him, "No you have to go, you carry the Sword of Thiel."</p><p>Toran's jawed dropped and he said, "I will not abandon you over a relic, I will not leave you to die!"</p><p>"Now he decides to follow protocol," muttered Lorath, "Listen I do not like it either but you have the blade and its legacy cannot end here, you must take it to safety."</p><p>Toran couldn't believe what he was hearing and thrust the blade hilt first at Starn saying, "You said the sword can only be passed on in death, very well, I will die here and I am bequeathing it to you."</p><p>Starn was firm in his refusal though, "No, you cannot throw this burden away, you will get in that lighter and carry a warning to the Chapter. That is an order."</p><p>Toran groaned, of all the times for Starn to remember he was actually in command. He wanted to argue but orders were orders and he could not disobey a direct command from a superior. Toran was about to salute and make some clichéd platitudes but they were abruptly interrupted as Hevostan disconnected the fuel bowser and limped to the hatch, dragging a cable behind him. It was one of the deck ties that were used to hold down gunships and transporters, only as thick as a man's finger but strong enough to secure a battle tank on a pitching deck.</p><p>The Techmarine disappeared into the Arvus as the squad watched with bafflement, then he remerged running the cable out with his one good hand as he went. He limped up to Zeax and secured the cable to an equipment clamp on the back of his armour and then he walked up to Priyar doing the same thing. As they watched him going from man to man securing each in turn Lorath said, "Please tell me he's not planning to do what I think he is doing."</p><p>As Toran was being secured he said, "If you think he's planning to drag us behind the Arvus, then you are right."</p><p>Lorath snarled "That is the stupidest…" He didn't get to finish his sentence for there was a sudden crescendo of screeching and a scrambling of claws from the entranceway: the genestealers had found them. An avalanche of chitinous horrors exploded into the hanger, hundreds of bounding hybrids and purestrains, leaping forwards with talons raised. The Terminators instantly formed a firing line, all arguments forgotten in the face of the enemy, they waited a single moment to select targets and then let fly with Storm Bolters. Four twin streams of bolt rounds punched into the oncoming swarm, blasting away limbs and exploding exoskeletons. Monsters fell before the might of the Space Marines but the horde kept pouring out of the gate in an endless river of chitin.</p><p>The Terminators stood firm as the mass of Xenos swept forwards, forming a wall of ceramite against the advance of the aliens. To the rear Hevostan finished connecting them together, Sergeant Starn being the last in line and then he limped up the Arvus' ramp. As the hatch whined closed and the engines began to grind through an emergency preflight warm-up Starn shouted, "Hold the line brothers, here we stand and none shall pass!"</p><p>Toran heard the cry over the roar of battle and redoubled his fire, blasting apart hybrids with every shot. His magazine ran dry and he ejected the clip with a flick of his thumb, he lowered the Storm Bolter to insert another but found to his horror there were none left: he was out of ammo. The genestealers boiled forwards, hungry for the kill but the Terminators were far from helpless, they met the leaping Xenos with Power Fists and swords cutting them down in droves. Claws gouged at their plate and fangs bit hard but they smote all within reach, dealing a terrible vengeance on the foe. The Terminators stood proud against the sea of chitin, hacking and slashing in their determination to keep the foe at bay but the worst was yet to come. Above the horde rose a massive shadow, a monster with a pitted, scarred hide and only two massive scything talons: the Patriarch had come.</p><p>With their broodfather present the swarm redoubled their attacks, pressing forwards in an overwhelming tide. Toran swept his sword through a wall of flesh, cleaving foes apart but all he could see were deformed bodies and slashing talons. He fought with all his skill and strength but could not deny the press of the enemy and deep within he knew the tide was turning against them. The Terminators were drowning in foes and it became clear, they could not win this fight.</p><p>It was in this moment Sergeant Starn saw their doom arising and he did not hesitate to act. He pivoted back and swept his fist behind him to sever the cable tie on his back then pounded forwards. Toran's jaw fell as watched the Sergeant smashing lesser foes aside as he ran at the Patriarch like a bull through long grass and nothing could stop him.</p><p>Toran was hacking Xenos apart with his sword but still yelled, "Sergeant, don't do it!"</p><p>Starn did not pause but yelled, "Get clear and complete the mission; I will buy you the time!"</p><p>Toran could only watch Starn's suicidal charge from afar and it was the most valiant and noble action he had ever witnessed. One marine against the pinnacle of the Xeno's might, one man determined to deny the eternal hunger of an entire species. The swarm paused momentarily, turning back to meet the sergeant's charge and Starn cried, "We are the Emperor's…" but the rest of the cry was drowned out as the Arvus' engines ignited at last and it roared forwards on a comet tail of fire.</p><p>For one moment the heat of the rockets swept over the combatants, blasting away Xeno bodies even as it made the Terminator's plate glow cherry red. Then the cable snapped taut and Toran felt like he had been kicked in the chest by a Dreadnought as he was wrenched off his feet. The lighter ran down the launch rails with astonishing acceleration and Toran was slammed into the deck hard enough to make stars flash before his eyes, a sensation he had thought had been cut out of him during his gene-ascension.</p><p>The cable whipped back and forth, thrashing the Terminators helplessly behind it as they smashed into the deck and each other with bone shattering force. Mortal men would have been reduced to paste by the forces wrought upon them and even the Space Marines felt battered and bruised. Toran was being thrashed back and forth and he almost lost his grip on the Sword of Thiel, but held on grimly and clamped both hands around the blade. Then the Arvus shot out past the atmospheric shield and the Terminators were dragged out behind it.</p><p>Toran's last sight was of the giant Patriarch rearing up high over the lonely figure of Sergeant Starn. The Sergeant was surrounded by skittering horrors yet stood proud and undaunted in the face of death itself. Then they all shrank into a distant blur as the Arvus lighter fled into the infinite black of space.</p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Vacuus Cymba Chapter 13</p><p>A roaring comet of fire streaked across the midnight sky, the Arvus Lighter struggling to break clear as it pushed its engines to the maximum. The pilot seemed to be struggling with the controls for the tiny lighter swung widely from side to side, engines flaring and cutting out at random. The effect on the craft was jarring but for those being dragged behind it was devastating, every jostle of the Arvus transmitted up the cable to snap them back and forth. Every time the engines cut out, they would all go sailing forwards in a heap but when they cut back in they would snap out like a plumb line.</p><p>Toran was being repeatedly smashed into his brothers, every impact ringing in his ears and he was growing seriously concerned about the state of their armour's void seals. A jostle in the line sent Lorath caroming towards him and he drove helplessly into his brother with the force of a pile driver. Toran was sent spinning into the vacuum but was pulled up short when the line yanked him back again. His head snapped forwards and he saw Lorath swinging back round, arms and legs flailing at nothing in the vacuum,. Toran let free one hand from his sword and reached out to grab him. The pair impacted together and Toran grabbed at Lorath's shoulder pad but his gauntlet scrabbled across the smooth surface and was unable to find a grip as they floated apart.</p><p>Toran gritted his teeth and waited for the next jerk to bring him back again, this time Lorath was inverted and as the boots hit his midriff he was able to reach out and snagged one of the exoskeleton struts on the leg. Toran held on tightly to his brother and refused to let go as they were flung about. Suddenly Toran felt a tug on his belt and he was just able to crane his head enough to see that Priyar had one hand on his belt, hanging on determinedly. The other hand was locked around Zeax's melted flamer making them into a chain of armoured figures. With them effectively reduced to one unit the jarring motion was significantly reduced and they were able to take stock.</p><p>Toran found himself facing back towards the shrinking silhouette of the Manifest Destiny. The ship was sailing serenely along as if nothing was wrong and he could not help but wonder if their sabotage had been undone. He opened his mouth to ask if anyone knew how much longer was left on the countdown, but before he could speak there was a brilliant flash of light. A magnesium flare lit up the black velvet background and it was so bright it made Toran's autosenses blank out. For long seconds all was black then the filters dropped and Toran, gasped for the Manifest Destiny was burning from stem to stern, blazing so brightly he could see it even without the light of a sun. The ship was surrounded by a cloud of expanding debris and most the middle portion was just gone. The forecastle and bridge tower stood proud over a gaping crater making the ship look like an elongated 'U'. Toran watched air spewing from the vast crater, spilling multi limbed bodies into the freeze cold and they kicked feebly as the icy grip of death claimed them. The plasma drives were flaring erratically, pushing the ship into a tumble and making its prow dive down. He saw that the wrecked beams and cracked struts of the remaining superstructure could not take the enormous strain and began to shatter. The stern came away from the prow, snapping the ship across its width and creating two separate masses of drifting metal, but then the reactors finally failed and the vessel disappeared in a blazing inferno of brilliant light and fire.</p><p>The squad watched on from afar, witnessing the death of the ancient ship and its deadly cargo of Genestealers. Priyar was the first to speak over the Vox network, "She was a fine ship once, before the Xeno got their filthy claws on her."</p><p>Lorath concurred, "Her spirit has been avenged as have our brothers."</p><p>Zeax declared, "Burning on mountain of dead enemies; we could erect no greater pyre to Athead and Starn. Their glory is eternal."</p><p>"They died well indeed," agreed Toran, "Angle's Redoubt has been saved from a vile Xeno infestation."</p><p>Zeax said, "Would that we all could know such glorious deaths."</p><p>"Is that it then?" asked Priyar, "Is the fight over?"</p><p>"Far from it," replied Lorath, "There is still that Hive Fleet out there and the war to stop it will be terrible indeed."</p><p>Toran said, "He is right, the Chapter has to be warned about what is coming. Zeax, can you pull us up to the Lighter?"</p><p>Zeax replied gruffly, "Not until the damn engines stop burning my scalp off."</p><p>For long minutes the squad dangled helplessly, unable to do anything except watch the receding pyre of the Manifest Destiny fade behind them. After an indeterminate amount of time the Arvus' engines died and it went cold and dark. The squad was left floating weightless in space, drifting behind the cold dead lighter and wondering as to the fate of its pilot. Zeax was able to get a hold of the cable and with one sharp tug pulled them towards the tiny craft; they grabbed onto its wing pylons and held on firmly lest they drift off again. Carefully they manoeuvred themselves around the boxy hull, Toran going very slowly as he had to keep one hand on his sword at all times. Eventually they gathered round the front window and gazed within, seeing Hevostan sitting still and unmoving. Toran felt alarm and he hurriedly banged on the window with the hilt of his sword. He was relieved when Hevostan's head rose and looked at him.</p><p>The vox sizzled then a faint voice came through, weak but alive, "I am trying to enact a sus-an-membrane coma."</p><p>Toran was heartened to hear the Techmarine's voice and said, "Brother you live!"</p><p>Hevostan managed to sound disgruntled and said, "That is a redundant statement, I am obviously alive."</p><p>Toran replied, "I have been concerned, you haven't said a word since the attack."</p><p>Hevostan replied frankly, "My augmetics suffered serious degradation; I have been forced to devote the majority of my processing ability to appeasing the Motive Forces."</p><p>Toran knew exactly how pedantic servants of the Omnissiah could be and said, "I meant I was worried about your health."</p><p>"Oh that" said Hevostan as if it were not of any great import, "I have endured first to third degree burns across eighty-seven point three percent of my surface area, I suspect my epidermis will need completely replacing with synth-flesh."</p><p>"What about your arm?" piped up Lorath.</p><p>Hevostan stated "My limb has been welded to my abdominal plates; it will require amputation and replacement once we return to the Fortress Monastery."</p><p>Toran was relieved to hear Hevostan would live, even though he did not seem in the least bit bothered by the injuries to his flesh. He spoke up saying, "About that… how are we getting home?"</p><p>Hevostan replied, "The detonation of the Strike Cruiser cannot have evaded the SDF's long range auspex's. To increase the probability of detection I have activated the Arvus' distress beacon, I recommend you implore your armour's Machine Spirits to do the same."</p><p>"So we are trusting to the competence of the local defence officers," rumbled Lorath, "That is hardly reassuring."</p><p>"I have enacted a fuel conversing burn towards the primary biosphere," declared Hevostan, "It should bring us into the habitable zone in as little as seven years."</p><p>Toran gulped, even for an Astartes that was a long time to adrift in the cold vacuum of interplanetary space, but what other choice did they have. He looked at his brothers and said, "We are wasting precious oxygen so let us get on with it. Secure yourselves to the hull I don't trust one cable to keep us all together for one year let alone seven."</p><p>The squad spread out, clamping themselves to the wing pylons and exposed handles on the hull. Toran found a good spot on the landing gear and attached himself with several equipment clips. Once the squad was settled they all began murmuring the hypnotic mantras that would trigger their sus-an-membranes, putting them into a life preserving state of hibernation for Emperor alone knew how long. The nonsense words triggered a conditioned response in their subconscious and Toran felt his breathing begin to slow and his dual-heart rate drop. A cold lethargy began to creep up his limbs and as portions of his brain shut down his thoughts began to wander down strange pathways, it was not dreaming but it was as close as a Space Marine could ever get. It felt like he was turning into a worn statue, as if his body was carved from granite and everything that made him vital was washing away in perpetual rain to leave him grey and lifeless.</p><p>As the hazy mist enveloped his mind Toran heard Priyar's voice as if from far away, "What is the longest hibernation period on record?"</p><p>Hevostan's distant voice drifted back, "Brother Silas Err of the Dark Angels holds the record at 567 years."</p><p>"Karyl's hairy arse," Lorath cursed in muffled tones, "Let us trust that the Emperor does not intend for us to break that record."</p><p>Whatever was said next was lost on Toran as the grey fog of sleep stole over him, he locked his armour's grip around the Sword of Thiel with both hands and looked out at the distant stars. His hearts were barely beating now, so slow that he was barely above the threshold of the grave. His mind slowed to a crawl and his last conscious thoughts were to wonder from whence in their eternal depths would the Tyranids come and whether the Storm Heralds would be ready to meet them when they did. Then he was lost to a dreamless sleep and thought no more.</p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. 14</h2></a>
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    <p>Vacuus Cymba Chapter 14</p><p>Hevostan sat and waited patiently, it wasn't like there was much else he could do. The techmarine was sitting naked in a cold and sterile room, white walls and med-slab leaving no impression of identity or location. He had awoken in this sterile chamber some time ago and discovered he was locked inside, left to wait the pleasure of whomever had left him here. His internal augmetics told him he had been waiting several hours but other than that he had no indications of what was occurring, all external signals had been blocked by the white walls, leaving him isolated and ignorant.</p><p>He spent the time guessing who had captured him. There was no indication to be found as to their identity, but his body told a different story. While he was in a coma Hevostan's wounds had been healed, his flesh reworked with expert hands to undo the damage he had taken in the plasma fire. His crippled arm had been grafted with fresh skin, the slight difference in colouration telling him this was a donor implant, not a vat-grown sheet of flesh. That was both welcome and troubling, the fact that whoever held him captive had taken the trouble to heal him suggested they were not hostile, best case scenario he had been found by the Chapter. The worrying part was that such an operation took time, precious time the Storm Heralds may not have. Weeks or months of time, wasted while the Tyranid menace advanced into the galaxy. There was no telling how much closer they had drawn while he wasted months slumbering.</p><p>Left to fret Hevostan counted the hours pass, until at last there was a clunk at the door. He sat upright as a white panel flush to the wall swung out, revealing a red-clad figure outlined against a glaring light. The thickness of the armour and the unique placement of the expanded cogitator cores instantly told him who was coming, Sigas another member of the Techmarine Sodality. He kept his helm on as he stepped into the room and shut the door, then stated, "Hevostan, you awaken."</p><p>Hevostan nodded respectfully for his colleague and replied, "Sigas, it is good to see you. The omnissiah ordained our meeting."</p><p>"That remains to be seen," Sigas corrected, "Your return to us has created quite a stir."</p><p>"How so?" Hevostan asked in confusion.</p><p>"You have to ask?" Sigas snapped.</p><p>"I wouldn't ask if I knew," Hevostan retorted.</p><p>Sigas was silent for a moment then elaborated, "Your lighter was found drifting in space in the Angle's Redoubt system. Yourself and the Terminator cadre sent to explore the Manifest Destiny. The navy ship was most perplexed by your arrival and sent to us for your retrieval."</p><p>"The navy," Hevostan breathed, "Not a Chapter ship, how long was I sleeping?"</p><p>Sigas ignored that as he continued, "We investigated your logs while your body was rebuilt and found most troubling evidence of Heretek behaviour."</p><p>"Heretek?!" Hevostan gasped, "What are you talking about?!"</p><p>"You destroyed the Manifest Destiny, a most holy receptacle of the Omnissiah's blessings. To wantonly and needlessly annihilate such a treasure speaks poorly of your conduct."</p><p>"It was far from needless," Hevostan retorted, "The vessel was overrun by Genestealers, on course for an Imperial Hive World. It had to be stopped."</p><p>Sigas hissed, "It is not your place to make such judgements, are these your words or Athead's?"</p><p>"You think I am influenced by his blasphemy?" Hevostan hissed.</p><p>"Aren't you?" Sigas growled.</p><p>"Error-shunt-abort, this is ridiculous," Hevostan snapped, "I demand to speak to the Forgemaster at once!"</p><p>"You don't get to make demands..." Sigas barked.</p><p>But Hevostan shouted, "I am his equerry and I carry a dire warning, Angamatan must hear what I have to say!"</p><p>Suddenly a fierce wash of vox-interference cut through his internal receptors, a powerful signal cutting through the wards from outside. Potent and angry code-cant blurted into their vox-receptors as a stern voice laced into the signal rebuked, "I can hear you and I am far from impressed."</p><p>"Forgemaster," Hevostan data-squirted back, "I must make an urgent report."</p><p>"First explain how you lost our ship!" the Forgemaster growled from afar.</p><p>Hevostan felt a surge of shame but kept it from his signal as he stated, "If you examine my armour logs you will see the ship was lost before we set foot upon it. It carried a deadly cargo to an Imperial Hive world. Vast manufactorums, data-shrines and industrial capacity were imperilled, the loss of the ship was essential to preserve greater boons elsewhere."</p><p>"So argued Athead when he levelled the Dreaming Spires," the Forgemaster hissed, "Do you embrace his thinking?"</p><p>"I..." Hevostan stammered, "I have come to see the necessity of sacrificing a part, to preserve a greater whole. Athead gave his life to save us and I can no longer fault his reasoning."</p><p>"You see," Sigas scoffed, "He has been tainted by Heretek fallacies."</p><p>"You weren't there!" Hevostan snapped, "I was, I saw the threat and I had to act. Perhaps if you left the Fortress-Monastery once in a while you would see fire threats require extreme solutions."</p><p>"Peace," the Forgemaster canted, "I accept your reasoning."</p><p>"You do?" Hevostan started.</p><p>"Your armour logs bear witness to the truth, I can see you had no other choice. You have proved your reasoning was sound, but know we had to test you to ensure no logic-corruption had occurred. If nothing else your return of the Binary Apostle's Epistles justifies any losses suffered in the mission."</p><p>Hevostan sank back against the slab as he breathed, "I understand, what of the others?"</p><p>"Still in comas," Sigas replied, "Now we are confident you are sound they can be transferred to the Apothecarion for awakening."</p><p>Hevostan blinked as he started, "They aren't awake already?! Red Sands, then the Chapter doesn't know about what's coming."</p><p>"Calm yourself," the Forgemaster chided.</p><p>But Hevostan cried, "Didn't you read my reports, didn't you see what's coming?! How long have I slept, tell me how long!"</p><p>Sigas sounded confused as he answered, "You were adrift in space for five years."</p><p>"Five years..." Hevostan gasped in horror, "Then it may already be too late. Hurry we must alert Chapter Master Gorgall at once!"</p><p>"Reset your humours," the Forgemaster snapped, "Explain this outburst."</p><p>But Hevostan cried in alarm, "There's no time! We must warn the Imperium at once, warn everybody there's another Tyranid Hive Fleet out there and it's on our doorstep!"</p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. 15</h2></a>
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    <p>*Presenting a teaser for Noctem Oritur*</p><p>Somewhere, Somewhen</p><p>The bridge was to all appearances was a perfect example of Imperial efficiency, with officers and crew bustling about with well-practised ease, yet scratch the surface and the veneer of perfection was marred. The crew were hunched and twisted things, men with tentacles for arms or too many eyes sitting at consoles and tending to arcane machinery. The servitors were wrong too, men who had not been properly lobotomised drilled into place, moaning and screaming in agony as their brains were subverted to manage the complex systems. Most Imperial bridges were ornate and gilded, large enough to resemble cathedrals in their echoing space but this was an amphitheatre. It was a vast bowl shaped arena, with thousands of crew bustling to and fro and receded pits were sunk into the floor each housing a dozen industrious officers. The walls and floor were curiously bare too, lacking the gilding of the Imperium or the twisted nightmares of Chaos; it was clean, efficient and elegant in its plain lines... if somewhat darkly lit.</p><p>In the very centre of the soaring bridge was the raised pedestal of a command dais, it was bordered with a marble rim and surrounded by a polished Nalwood rail and it bore a single throne. The throne was large, extremely large, too big in fact for an Astartes to sit in without looking childlike themselves. Standing before that throne were two figures, one wore long robes over his turquoise armour that were embellished with esoteric symbols, he carried a staff crested with a three headed snake and his helm bore four twisted horns. The other was a giant even by Space Marine standards, his armour decorated with writhing serpents and chained 'A' shapes, he bore a large double-headed axe that was carved with glowing runes and he was kneading it impatiently in his grip.</p><p>The giant turned his back on the bridge and snarled, "By the dark powers Beta, how much longer are we going to play these games, when will we finally launch our attack?"</p><p>The sorcerer replied, "Now, now Gamma, this is an important step in the process. We must ensure everything is perfect before we make our move, haste is an enemy as deadly as any other."</p><p>Gamma growled, "He who hesitates is lost."</p><p>Beta sighed wearily, "It took ten thousand years to complete this work, what are a few more weeks of field trials?"</p><p>Now Gamma sounded like he was grinning under his helm and said, "Single handed we have obliterated the other ships in almost every simulation."</p><p>"Almost," replied Beta rolling the word around like grit found in a succulent delicacy, "Lord Vorshaan has no use for 'Almost', either we triumph or we die there are no other options."</p><p>"Vorshaan," growled Gamma the amusement gone from his voice, "How much longer are we going to follow that damned cur about?"</p><p>"As long as the Legion requires," answered Beta, "Alpha wants this done right and we will not fail him."</p><p>"Then just kill the fool and be done with it," hissed Gamma.</p><p>"No," rebuked Beta, "Until the prize is ours we will act the part of loyal servants, now speak no more of this, he is coming."</p><p>From behind them a new figure climbed the marble steps to the dais. He was clad in lightning streaked armour of midnight hue with a fanged helm that appeared to leer at anyone who glanced at him. Behind his back were a pair of fleshy, mutated wings and at his waist were a pair of bare swords, marked with dark runes that leaked black smoke and seemed to writhe in ways no simple metal should be able to do.</p><p>Beta turned to face the newcomer and bowed low saying, "Welcome Lord Vorshaan, all is in readiness for your next field test."</p><p>"It had better be," growled Vorshaan the Dusk Prince, "I grow weary of these endless trials; I yearn to unleash our new weapon in genuine combat."</p><p>Beta could practically feel smugness radiating off Gamma but stepped forwards and said, "One more round of tests my lord, just one more to ensure everything is perfect."</p><p>Vorshaan glared at him in irritation and said "You are lucky your grovelling pleases me or I would rip out your slimy tongue. If you insist then I can defer my triumph for one more go around the system. What is the status of our escorts?"</p><p>Gamma stepped forwards and said, "The cruisers Ixion and Ephialtes are ready and Phorcides squadron reports their frigates have bound Neverborn into their auspex arrays, their commanders boast that there is no way we can escape detection this time."</p><p>"Those boasts better prove hollow or I will take both your heads," growled Vorshaan, "Let us not waste more time, signal the chasers to fall back to the edge of sensor range then commence their sweep. We will disappear and let them test our effectiveness; if we can elude Daemons then we can evade anything the Imperial dogs can throw at us."</p><p>Gamma bowed low and moved away shouting orders at bridge officers and stirring a commotion in their serried ranks. Meanwhile Vorshaan wandered over to the great throne and rested one hand on the stone seat. He did not sit upon it, for he would have looked weak in such an overbuilt setting, but he did not move away from the centre of power either.</p><p>Beta wandered over to him and asked, "Lord, why have you never had that removed?"</p><p>Vorshaan did not look at him but explained, "As a reminder that there is always someone bigger than you out there and that even the best laid plans can go awry."</p><p>He lifted his hand from the throne and spread his arms wide saying, "This should have been mine ten thousand years ago, I was within an inch of claiming it for the VIIIth Legion but then that bloated maggot Typhus swept in and burned it out from under me. Ten millennia I have scraped, stolen and bargained for the materials to rebuild my great chariot and the others laughed at me for it. They laughed! They called it a folly and a useless relic, but look at me now. While all the other Night Lord champions wasted their armies on petty vendetta's and pointless wars I alone rebuilt and gathered my strength."</p><p>Beta nodded, "It is indeed an impressive and potent weapon of war."</p><p>"Impressive?!" barked Vorshaan, "Vengeful Spirit, Macragge's Honour, Iron Blood, Endurance, Hrafnkel, Invincible Reason, Conqueror and Red Tear, more than just names, those ships dictated the course of history itself. The men who commanded them were kings of the nine vectors and now I will join them. A Glorianna class battleship of my very own, those pathetic Storm Heralds will not stand a chance."</p><p>Beta said snidely, "Still it can only break the loyalist's fleets and clear out the orbital defences, a Fortress Monastery is another problem altogether. Even this ship will not break their void shields, only a ground assault can achieve your ultimate goal."</p><p>Vorshaan waved a hand dismissively and said, "That is where the warbands you and Gamma summoned come in. We will wait until the moment is right then wipe the Storm Heralds from the face of the galaxy. Once word spreads that I have crushed an entire chapter countless warbands will flock to fight under my banner, I will command whole legions of Chaos, enough to give Abaddon himself pause."</p><p>Now a note of alarm entered Beta's voice as he said, "You are not planning to challenge the Warmaster are you?!"</p><p>orshaan gave him an exasperated look and said, "I may be crazy but I am not stupid. No, a position of glory in the next Black Crusade will suffice... for now."</p><p>Their discourse was interrupted as Gamma strode back saying, "The chasers are in position, we are ready."</p><p>"Good," purred Vorshaan, "Beta you may begin the procedure."</p><p>Beta bowed then turned and marched over to the edge of the rail where he could look down into a very special operation pit. Wnsconced within was a large white cube that was twelve feet to a side. It was covered in ceramic tiles but through the gaps could be seen arcane mechanisms inscribed on obsidian plates and on the front were a ring of interface cables plugged in around one analogue dial. Beta began directing gaggles of twisted Dark Mechanicus priests to begin tending to the device and as they did so the already dim lights on the bridge flickered and died.</p><p>In the twilight illumination of consoles and flashlights Vorshaan and Gamma walked over to the rail and watched on with fierce interest. Before their eyes the needle on the device began to twitch and move, then it began to climb, passing through a green segment of the dial and on into the yellow part. As they watched the analogue dial crept up past the yellow boundary and kept climbing into the red, they all held their breaths for a heart stopping moment, but then the needle slowed and came to rest, well into the red but just shy of the danger limit.</p><p>Beta breathed out in relief and declared, "The Primaris Harmonic Invertor is performing perfectly again, Reflex shields are engaged."</p><p>"Excellent," replied Vorshaan, "Then we should be undetectable to any auspex or visual scanners. You may begin your manoeuvres, I want us well off our last heading when Ixion, Ephialtes and Phorcides squadron start their sweep."</p><p>Gamma stomped off again but Beta said with a note of caution, "Tolerances are much finer than we expected, masking a battleship this size is a delicate balancing act, too much manoeuvring and we risk energy bleed. The ancient accounts say the XIXth Legion had to operate at reduced power when using Reflex Shields, I would recommend shutting down all non-essential systems this time and keeping course corrections to a minimum."</p><p>"I will take that under advisement," said Vorshaan as the crew hurried about their business, "Who would have thought the lost secrets of Reflex Shield technology was sitting right under our noses the whole time? A fine cosmic jest, but the Dark Gods must have laughed their faces off when they put it into the hands of the very Imperials we want to kill."</p><p>Vorshaan paced back to the throne and leaned against it in satisfaction as he crowed, "Still we will be the ones laughing when we are orbiting their homeworld and watching it burn. I would love to see their faces the moment that they witness the Shadow of the Emperor returning from the grave right on their doorstep."</p>
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